


stranger falls

by scoutshonour



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Found Family, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Kid Fic, Polyamory, Supernatural Elements, if you're wondering what the fuck this is then so am i friend! so am i
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-08 00:23:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 77,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21466984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoutshonour/pseuds/scoutshonour
Summary: After getting a job offer at a legitimate newspaper and another offer for a potentially supernatural-related adventure, Jonathan packs his things and moves to Hawkins. Things he doesn’t expect: the depth of Hawkins’ paranormal activity. The real reason why Murray, his boss, wants him to investigate the supernatural. Befriending Kali, a bored waitress. And least of all, falling for young parents, Nancy and Steve.Eerie cabins! Vicious gnomes! Bigfoot! Love in every form! Feelings! It’s the scariest story ever told —In the form of a Gravity Falls and rom-com inspired story.
Relationships: Alexei/Murray Bauman, Jonathan Byers & Kali Prasad, Jonathan Byers/Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Murray Bauman & Jonathan Byers, Robin Buckley/Kali Prasad, Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler
Comments: 117
Kudos: 141





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i honestly have no idea what the FUCK this is. i thought about scrapping the baby stuff, but then i reminded myself that if you're not catering to your most niche and random interests, then you aren't living your true self. and i had fun writing whatever the fuck this was, so someone will inevitably have fun reading it! 
> 
> i also suggest listening to the album melodrama and lots of EDEN (rock + roll, love; not wrong (brave), and projector), mostly because i listened to a lot of lorde and EDEN for this fic.
> 
> this fic is inspired by gravity falls and a bunch of rom-com tropes. i wanted to do a jonathan + parents!stancy for a long time as well. so here it is, everything meshed into one.

Murray had told Jonathan over the phone that Hawkins was a weird town, and the second that Jonathan drives past the old, fading, and eerie _Welcome to Hawkins! _sign, he feels it — the strangeness — in his bones.

Maybe it has more to do with all the articles and subreddits he’s found about the town online. Reddit’s full of stupid shit, but the amount of paranormal sightings and strange anecdotes were alarmingly higher than the normal small town. People, mostly those passing by, described the monsters they they saw with great detail, details that helped shape the crux of his nightmares for the better part of the past two weeks that he’s spent contemplating Murray’s offer.

Which boiled down to: _hey, you’re a photographer, my newspaper has a position, and also I need someone to document my investigation into the weirdness of this town. _Helping Murray with his personal investigation did not include a paycheck, but a part of what Murray assured would be the biggest breakthrough in the world and free donuts.

“Jelly, chocolate, sprinkles, you name it, I’ll give it to you,” Murray had said, his voice crackling over the line.

“I want money.”

“Hm. How about I give you a place to stay? Free of charge.”

“I don’t want to live with you.”

“Well, I don’t want to live with you _either, _bud.”

Jonathan felt his lips twitch into a smile at that, but sternly reminded himself that Murray was also trying to hire him for two jobs at the paycheck of one.

It almost uncharacteristically didn’t really bother him that the offer was in a town even smaller than his, five hours away, away from his family, his people. Maybe a year or two ago it would’ve broken him, because his family was his life. They still are.

But things are different now. While they’re all he’s got, he’s not all they’ve got. Will’s in his first year of university, a small uni at the edge of town, close enough that he’s still at home, but it doesn’t feel like it.

It’s not a bad thing that Will has new friends, that he’s started dating one too (a tall, dark-skinned boy named Oliver). Jonathan just misses him, is all, misses their weekly movie nights and making dinner every Tuesday for their mom, who’s just as busy these days, with her new boyfriend, the retired Sheriff of their town. He’s a decent guy. Probably. Okay, Jonathan doesn’t know, because _yes, _he doesn’t like him out of principle, but the last person Joyce dated was the biggest mistake of her life. Even if it brought her him and Will.

But that’s besides the point, which is Will is busy with classes and extracurriculars and new friends and Oliver, and Joyce is busy with _her _boyfriend, their weekly dates, and her new spin class.

They love him. He knows that. He’s not mad at them finding happiness outside of him and the Byers bubble they’ve had since day one, but he does kind of, sort of, definitely resents that he doesn’t have the same complete life that they do. He wants that for himself. Maybe he’ll find it in a small town in Indiana, with a boss who’s convinced that “there’s so much weird shit that only Stephen King could predict and guess what, kid, _we _are the protagonists of his next hit novel!”

“I own this sweet cabin. No neighbours, no one around for at least half a mile,” Murray had continued.

“So if I die, which doesn’t seem that implausible, with everything you’ve told me about, what, murderous leprechauns and zombies, no one will hear me scream?” Despite the dry comment, Jonathan saw flashes of the life Murray was offering. Small town, a full-time, well-paying job where he’d get to be behind a camera for pretty much all of it, a place to stay free of cost, a possible adventure, and a new start.

Most tantalizing, it was a _life. _What Jonathan had barely qualified: his part-time job at the local grocery store with his other part-time job at a photography agency that gave him weekend gigs for birthdays, baby showers, anniversaries, the occasional wedding, and nights with his family.

His family’s lives had changed. Maybe it was time his did too. Something else was waiting for him in Hawkins — not just the beginning of a new job, but a chance to have a full and complete life. Just something with love. Not that his family’s love wasn’t enough, but selfishly he wanted a life overflowing with love. Any and all types. All his life, he’s told himself that no one really needed friends. But on a phone-call with a middle-aged conspiracist who someone, for some reason, allowed to be a journalist, inadvertently offering Jonathan the _sliver _of a chance at meeting new people who he could maybe love and who could somehow love him, he can admit that he’s been lying to himself.

Truth is, he’s craving something. Someone.

If he dies in Hawkins, then maybe he’ll have gone with something he doesn’t have now — a friend.

“I’ll teach you self-defence,” Murray said firmly. “But it’s not like we’ve got a high rate of murder here, only violent attacks, damaged property, residents in therapy. Not a lot of death, but the occasional death via the supernatural is still possible.”

“Great.”

“I have a great number for a therapist if you want it. Though it’d be in Hawkins, so you could only go if you accepted the job.”

“I’ll think about it,” Jonathan said.

An audible cheer sounded from Murray’s line. “Yes! You and I will have an amazing time together making _history _and eating _donuts _and —”

“I’ll think about it,” Jonathan said again, but in his heart of hearts, knew his decision already.

So he asked his mother and brother a million times if they would be okay with it. Gave in his two weeks’ notice at both jobs after their millionth “yes, Jonathan, we just want you to be happy.” Packed all of his things the night before he was set to move, all twenty-six years of his life four boxes and one duffel bag. Absolutely sobbed when he hugged his family goodbye, and sobbed harder as he drove off.

But there are no tears as he officially enters Hawkins.

Only a chill running down his spine, even though it’s the first week of September and his shirt, an old _Clash _shirt his mom got him for his fourteenth birthday that still fit his lanky frame, was soaked in sweat.

He was just here to do what he loved most: take pictures. Murray promised him that he was safe. For a second, the thought brings him comfort, until he remembers that he has absolutely no reason to trust this guy, and he could very well be driving towards his death.

Jonathan leans forward. Raises the volume to his favourite EDENsong. Settles back into his seat right as the next lyric hits him.

_“I know the day I die I lived through Heaven and that I gave it Hell._ _And if it hurt, oh well, at least that’s living.”_

Something weird and light bursts and bounces around in his chest. His grip on the steering wheel loosens. Shoulders droop. Jaw unclenches.

It takes the next two songs for him to figure out the feeling. It’s a little pathetic that he’s so unused to feeling it that he couldn’t recognize it for what it was: hope.

.

.

.

“How was the drive in?”

“Fine.”

“What do you think so far? Of the town?”

“Eh.”

“Do you usually give monosyllabic answers?”

“Yup.”

Murray’s shark-like grin looks more haunted in person than it did in their interview via Skype. He leans back into his seat, splays an arm over the back of their booth, and pushes the tip of his moon-shaped glasses further up his nose. “I know you like me. You did agree to this job after all.”

Jonathan fights the urge to roll his eyes. He doesn’t think it’d be polite to do so in front of his boss, even if his boss is ... That. “We live in a capitalistic society. I need money to survive, unless the system’s overthrown within my lifetime and before climate change kills us all, which while I do hope for, I unfortunately doubt it.” No, he’s not usually like this (not as extreme about it, anyway). He wants to freak Murray out, wants him to back off, wants him to see Jonathan as a colleague only.

If anything, Murray’s grin widens. “I’ve got a bunker up North for when it happens.”

And God help Jonathan, he’s actually _interested. _“For the end of capitalism or the end of the world?”

“Yeah.”

Before Jonathan can think of a response, someone clears their throat.

Their heads whip to the side where a short, brown-skinned woman stands to the side of their booth. She pulls a pencil out from her large hair, black mixed with streaks of dark purple, and taps the small notepad in her hand. “Are you two _lovely _gentlemen ready to order?” 

Murray’s smile is almost fond, but still unnervingly eerie. “Ooh, I’ve never been called lovely before.”

“Because you aren’t, you abominable prick —” Her eyes shut as she puffs out a breath. When they open again, she smiles, wide and strained. “Because my boss is a dick who thinks I need to be _friendlier_, this job is a nightmare, and I need money to survive!”

Jonathan can’t help but chuckle to himself, which is a terrible idea.

The girl narrows her eyes at him. “Is my pain amusing to you?”

"No, no, it’s,” he stammers uselessly. He looks at Murray, almost pleadingly, but Murray just nods at him to continue. “I said the same thing earlier. I’m, uh, Murray’s newest ...”

“Assistant,” Murray supplies.

“No,” Jonathan says. “I’m the Hawkins Posts’ newest photographer. Working directly with Murray.”

“What’d you do to get that punishment?” She says so seriously that his heartbeat picks up, only to shortly thereafter smile. This time it’s genuine, reaching her eyes.

“She says that with love,” Murray says.

“No, she doesn’t,” she says. “Well, I’m Kali, I’m like, the only functioning waitress here, and if you choose to grace us with your presence, then I’ll probably be the only waitress who’ll ever serve you. Welcome to Hawkins. What would you like to order?”

He orders a black coffee and a blueberry muffin, tuning out whatever Murray orders to really take in the place. It’s a typical diner. Orange tables, faded blue booths that are torn at the sides. Bell on the door, another at the front next to a stack of menus. Five booths. Four tables. Small, cozy. It’s easy to lean back into his booth and feel like he’s at home.

He’s not. He’s in a new town, surrounded by new people, a few days away from a new job. He should be freaking out and he is, just a little, but decides that he’ll try first and if after a year, he can’t take it, then he can always move back home.

But who knows. Maybe this little place will become his home before he even knows it.

“Jesus fuck,” Jonathan splutters, suddenly tuning back in. He blinks, hard, to ensure that he’s not hallucinating. “Are you putting _ketchup _on your muffin!?”

Murray stops squeezing the kitchen bottle and frowns at Jonathan. “You’re _not?”_

_._

_._

_._

Jonathan’s first two days in Hawkins follow this schedule: wake up two hours later than he meant to, call his mom, take a shower, eat a bagel from a cart that came with other groceries Murray brought him on his first night in, take a walk, unpack, call Will, fuck around on his phone, take a nap, fuck around on his phone some more, call his mom, remember to eat dinner, unpack some more, call his mom again, sleep, and repeat.

Day three is when he runs out of food that Murray got him and also when he finishes unpacking. It’s kind of ridiculous that it took him so long to unpack everything. He didn’t bring much with him, and it’s not like the cabin is huge or anything — it’s small and quiet, a washroom, a single bedroom, the kitchen, and some open space near the front door. Just the way he likes it.

It’s a _nice _place. A voice that sounds suspiciously like his mother’s suggests that he do something nice back for Murray. Jonathan still hasn’t decided what he thinks about Murray, but so far, he doesn’t hate him, which feels like a good sign.

Around four pm is when Jonathan realizes that he has nothing to eat. He showers for the first time that day, puts on a soft, brown shirt that Hopper got him as a going away present, and a pair of sweatpants that, yes, okay, he needs to wash.

He grabs his wallet, two reusable bags, and his phone. He quickly scans over where Google Maps tells him to go before plugging his earbuds in and playing music.

He’s been outside for the past two days for walks, but this feels like his first time out on his own. Probably has to do with the fact that he’ll be near other people, no Murray as his crutch. It’s completely underwhelming, but it feels like it should be important. Some kind of milestone, a step forward, proof of progress.

He finds the grocery store easily. It’s as generic as they come, creatively titled _Hawkins Mart, _prompting him to wonder if every establishment here has to have the town’s name in it. It’s ridiculous, but it makes him shake his head and smile to himself.

He finds almost everything he needs, except for cereal. To be fair, he’s being picky. There’s this specific brand — _Sugar-Coated Marshmallows — _that had a smiling marshmallow as its mascot that he and Will ate almost every morning, together, ever since Jonathan started high school. They cut out two weeks each month per their mom’s request, but the tradition stuck, and made them more excited to eat it when they could, if anything.

It made Jonathan smile, just thinking about it, as he methodically searches the aisle of cereal. And then it makes his heart constrict. He’d woken up with two missed calls from Will and received Will’s voicemail when he called him back. It’s just ... he moved to Hawkins because he missed his family too much and needed to find himself away from them, and he’s here now, all settled in his cabin and everything, and he misses them so badly that it hurts, and he’s crying in the middle of the aisle because he can’t find that specific brand of cereal.

Jesus.

No one’s looking at him. He looks like a guy who’s really fascinated by cereal, as he’s been standing in this aisle for at least five minutes, and he’s still got the second half of the aisle to go.

First, he takes in a deep breath until he feels it in his chest. Holds it there. Releases it. Rubs his palm over his eyes. Grabs his phone, stares at his lock-screen. Three smiling faces stare back at him, one of them his own. It was taken at Will’s graduation a year ago, Joyce and Jonathan on either side of him, crushing him into a one-armed hug, and holding the ends of his art award right underneath Will’s chin. He can’t remember much about that day. It was hot and sticky. It felt weird to be back at his old high school, even weirder that his baby brother had finished _high school._

So what if he cried. His mom did too. And Will, upon realizing they were both crying. This happened all while they were taking pictures, so there is one of them all crying and laughing and looking at each other, sunlight dancing on their skin, the blue in Will’s cap and gown vibrant. He loves that picture. The only reason it’s not his phone’s background is because Joyce had turned towards them, so her face is partially blocked, and he wanted a background where he could see both his mother and brother’s faces. His other lock-screen, behind his apps, is a picture of a cat. Random cat that he found on Pinterest, a pretty shot and a prettier cat. Chester the dog died three years ago; maybe he could get a cat, name him Chester the second. It’d certainly fill up the loneliness carved in his heart. Be nice to have someone to come home to, even if it was an animal. He’ll still have someone to say, “Honey, I’m home!” to.

After his heart calms down and his eyes have dried, he continues going through each and every box of cereal. Soon enough, he catches sight of the familiar blue and white packaging in his peripheral vision.

Victory! A _win. _His heart actually flips at the sight. He reaches out to grab it, only for his hand to almost bump into a —

A baby?

The baby’s waving at him, tiny hand moving back and forth. It nudges its cheek against its mother’s shoulder, and oh God, Jonathan’s heart might burst in his chest.

Because the baby’s _smiling _at him.

His cart stops. His hands fall limp to his sides, before he waves back, almost shyly, which is ridiculous because this is just a fifteen pound, pink lump, and the second cutest one he’s ever seen. (Will’s always going to be number one. Unless he has his own kids. Wait, does he want — okay, different conversation, let’s put a pause on that.)

The baby squeals with laughter. Jonathan can’t help it. He laughs back, the sound prompting the baby’s mother to turn around. She looks at her baby, then at Jonathan, and her mouth hangs open.

Jonathan’s mouth also hangs open for two reasons: one, he was caught and has most definitely pissed/alarmed this mother off, and two, she’s — pretty doesn’t feel like the right word, too simplistic, too small for everything she is, even though it’s true. He tries to think of the right word in his panic-induced state, but all he can think of is this: he wants to take a picture of her.

Her hair is tied back. A large grey hoodie two sizes too big for her hangs loosely off her frame. Her lips are chapped. Bags of exhaustion hang underneath her bright blue eyes, but her eyes are sharp as they dig into his.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurts out, finally lowering his hand. “I didn’t — your baby started waving at me, so I —”

Her hands fly away from her baby, who’s snug in a baby carrier, up to her face. Her cart knocks into the aisle, causing a box of cereal to drop on the floor, but she doesn’t even flinch at the loud smack that follows. “She _what!? _Oh my god! She’s never done that before!”

“She hasn’t?”

“No!” And then she’s laughing, her eyes softening as they land on her baby’s. He gets a better look at the baby: she’s wearing a blue onesie that has one bright, wet stain that looks like recent spit-up. Her eyes are blue like her mom’s, but darker. She’s more adorable up close.

The woman continues and gently bounces her daughter. “Can you wave? Wave for Mommy?” He notices how she doesn’t baby down her voice, speaking to her baby as she did to him a few moments ago.

The baby smiles. Wrinkles her nose. Twitches her fingers.

Nothing follows.

“Maybe she’s nervous. Performance anxiety,” Jonathan offers, feeling stupid for it the second he’s said it.

But the woman mulls this over and frowns. “I’m not pressuring you. This is a no pressure zone. I will still love you even if you can’t wave.”

“Is that what you think not pressuring someone sounds like?”

Her head snaps up to glare at him. She falters once she sees the small involuntary smile on his lips and laughs loudly, unreservedly. “She’s too young to be anxious. Oh my god, I sound like my mother.”

Jonathan bites his inner cheek to keep from laughing. He thinks that it would be rude if he did. “I can wave back at her?”

Her eyes widen. She nods urgently, straightening and sliding a hand underneath her baby. “Yes, yes, sounds good. On three.”

“Why are we counting?”

“Because — okay, fine, whenever you want.”

“We can count —”

“No, it’s fine, you’re right, what’s the point —”

“No, I see _your _point. It’s climactic, and this is a big moment.”

“Not for you. God, I’m keeping you here, I’m so sorry, you’re probably busy.”

“I’m really not, and — holy shit. Uh, miss, ma’am, your baby’s —” Words fail him, his mouth splitting into a grin as he gestures with both hands to the baby’s wave.

The woman lets out a laugh so high that it almost sounds like a scream. She looks so happy she could cry. It could be the weird fluorescent lighting of the grocery mart, but Jonathan spots a tear rolling down her cheek as she waves back at her daughter before kissing all over her forehead. “Look at you. You’re growing so quickly. Today you’re waving, tomorrow you’re solving the cure for cancer, painting the next Mona Lisa. Not that I expect that of you! I just want you to be happy, Athena, be _happy, _and if you aren’t then I’ll help you, okay, Daddy and I will _help you, _and be there for you, and love you, and oh my god, you’re waving, you’re _waving ...”_

This looks like a good time for Jonathan to leave. This woman’s having a very emotional and beautiful conversation with her daughter, and is most definitely crying now. Jonathan doesn’t even know her name. He should really go.

“Thank you,” the woman says breathlessly.

His cheeks heat up. “I didn’t do anything. Really. All your daughter.”

“Sure, but I wouldn’t have seen her wave if it weren’t for you. Like. My baby can _wave. _I’m not getting over that. I’m not about to do this in a grocery store, am I?”

“Do what?”

“Oh. Oh, yes, I am. One sec.” She carefully removes her baby out of the slip on her chest and settles her into the carseat in the cart. Once Athena’s strapped in, the woman turns back to Jonathan and starts jumping up and down.

Through all the motion, he catches her eyebrow raise.

He’s not about to do this in a grocery store, is he?

The woman laughs again. Her ponytail soars in the air as she continues jumping.

Oh. Oh, yes, he is.

He lets himself jump, lets himself laugh, lets himself share this wonderful moment with a mother and her daughter. It’s nice, even when he thinks about how much he craves this: simple human interaction, smiling back at another person, just sharing moments with someone else.

Eventually he begins to pant, so he stops, bends over to catch his breath.

“Already? Your stamina _sucks.” _But he can hear the breathlessness in her voice as she stops, too, and leans against the aisle with heavy breaths of her own.

He looks at her. She looks back. “You’re new,” she says.

“How could you tell?”

“‘M uh.” Her lips curve into an amused smile, does weird things to his heart. “I kinda know everyone. I’m the town’s Sheriff.”

He blinks. Pictures her in a uniform, a gun in her hands, determined glint in her eyes. “Makes sense.”

She looks like she wants to call bullshit, but doesn’t. Instead, she extends her hand out to him. “Nancy Wheeler.”

He shakes her hand. “Jonathan Byers. Nice to meet you, Sheriff Wheeler.”

“First miss, then ma’am, now Sheriff? I’m literally your age. What, your mom teach you to respect authority?” She makes a fart noise with her hands. “Lame.”

He scrunches his nose up midway through his grin, confused but endeared. Is a cop supposed to think that? “No, but she taught me to be polite. She also gave me a lot of respect for mothers, so.”

At that, Nancy actually flushes. “Sure she misses you, Jonathan.”

A lump forms in his throat. “I miss her too.”

She smiles softly. “What’d you move here for? Hawkins is a boring town.”

“Job offer. Hawkins’ Post.”

“So you’re Murray’s newest assistant.”

“Is he telling people that? I’m not. Not really.”

“You _are_ indulging his delusions. Do you believe his claims that there’s supernatural in this town or you just wanted the paycheck?”

He gawks, utterly bewildered. She smiles sharply at him. “I, uh,” he says usefully. “He’s not even paying me for that gig. I’m getting free donuts.”

“You’re not answering the question.”

“I believe that anything’s possible,” he says flatly, unsure what to take from her insistent pressing. “Don’t you, Nancy?”

She opens her mouth, closes it. Does this a few times before answering. “I believe that it’s not right to enable an old man's crazed thoughts.”

“He’s not that old and he’s won too many awards for his journalism to be as deluded as you think. I don’t _know, _honestly, what I believe, but what’s the harm in what we’d be doing? Walking through the forest. Taking pictures. Worst thing happens is that we fall into a puddle or something.”

Nancy smiles. Her shoulders relax. Determination dims out of her gaze. Cop Mode has been turned off. “Best thing, then?”

“Best thing,” he repeats, his voice sounding far away. His face flushes with crimson. He scratches the back of his neck, just to do something with his hands. “Best thing happens is that we find what’s been here along, and the world gets a little stranger than it already is. Hopefully that won’t be a bad thing. Depends on what we find.”

“Well, Jonathan Byers.” Nancy turns around and bends over her cart, scoops Athena up in her arms, and slips her back into her baby carrier. She grips the cart’s handle and looks over her shoulder. “I hope you find whatever you’re looking for.”

He thinks, vaguely, that he has. But that’d be incredibly stupid to say, especially when he catches sight of the silver ring on her left hand’s ring finger. Which. Sure, she’d mentioned Athena’s dad, but that didn’t have to mean — whatever. It’s all good. Nancy Wheeler’s in love. She’s loved back. That’s a good thing. More love in this world is always a good thing.

“It was real nice meeting you, Nancy Wheeler,” he says instead. He smiles, much softer than necessary. “You too, Athena.”

Athena babbles. She waves.

“You’ve just made my day,” Nancy says. Jonathan thinks she’s talking to Athena, until Nancy meets his gaze and smiles back. “So thank you. Real nice meeting you too. I’ll see you around.”

And it doesn’t sound like it’s just a polite way to end a conversation. It sounds like a fact.

The sky is blue. Water is wet. Jonathan Byers will definitely be seeing Nancy Wheeler again.

What he thinks: _well, you made my day too. _What he says: “See you around too.”

But the stupid, dazed smile he sends her right before she turns back around and leaves the aisle says it better than he could anyway.

.

.

.

With all his packing done, groceries bought, and one final night before he starts his job, he doesn’t have anything to do. The silence in the cabin is killing him and no amount of music seems to change that.

He gave Will another call, but that also went to voicemail. He did talk to Joyce, who said that Will had been out all day for a group assignment due at midnight.

“We miss you,” she tells him. “I feel like you took a part of me when you left.”

“I’m so —”

“Do _not _apologize. That just means you have a part of me wherever you go, okay?”

“That’s so cheesy.” Like he’s not clutching his chest, the flutter of his heart against his palm. “I miss you too. Think I left a part of me there with you then.”

“Mm, you’re not getting it back.”

“Wow, thank you.”

“Hey, I gave you life! It’s the least you could do.” Pause. “But seriously, you’re an angel, you’ve done so much for me and your brother, and —”

“_Mom.”_

“Let me finish. You’ve done so much for us that I’m glad you’re doing something for you.”

His breath hitches. “Yeah.”

“And if you ever need anything, you don’t hesitate to ask for it. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help when you need it. It’s about the bravest thing you can do.”

“You’re imparting a lot of wisdom right now. Should I write it down?”

“Gotta make up for the time we’re missing. And yes, please do. Stick it up on your fridge or something.”

(He doesn’t tell her this, but he actually does it after the call.)

Afterwards, he considers his options of what to do tonight. He has about a billion television shows he’s been thinking of watching, all organized in his Notes app. But if he starts something, he _will _stay up to watch as much as he can, and he needs sleep tonight. He also needs to tire himself out.

This drives him to the logical conclusion: walk to _Hawks Cafe, _order a coffee and a bagel, do some light reading. Maybe strike up a conversation with Kali. They’re not friends. But they could be.

Ten minutes is all it takes to walk from the cabin to the Cafe. It’s nice to just move around, one foot in front of the other, over and over again, Bowie singing in his ears about facing the strange.

Once he reaches the cafe, he glances up at the cafe’s name. The neon sign is red and bright and in all caps, with the light in the ‘K’ dead. He takes a picture on his phone quickly, which means it takes two minutes of repositioning and re-angling, and sends it to Will.

_The creativity in this town is astounding, _he types. _Grocery store is Hawkins Mart, newspaper Hawkins Post, cafe Hawk’s Cafe. I think they’re scared we’ll all forget where we are._

He presses send and then shoves his phone into his back pockets. The bell chimes above his head as he steps inside and looks around nervously. But it’s not like he knows anyone, not really: two of the three people that he knows are Murray and Nancy, and they aren’t here.

But the third person is.

“Murray’s assistant,” Kali greets from behind the counter. She taps the pencil behind her ear. “You’re back.”

“Not his assistant.” Jonathan’s breaths come out easier as he approaches her. He hops onto a seat in front of her and lays his hands flat against the counter. “Hey.”

“Hey. Was it my _wonderful _service that had you back for more so soon?”

“Oh, yeah. Loved how you asked what I wanted. Loved how you just _gave _me what I asked for.”

“I take my craft very seriously. I’m not the Head Waitress for a reason.”

“Is it because there aren’t any other waitresses or because they’re all terrible?”

“Yes.”

He chuckles as he picks up a menu. “I can sit here, right?”

“Long as you’re okay with overhearing everyone that comes for takeout, which I’m not sure why I’m saying that as though we’re, like, constantly busy. Spoiler alert: we’re not.”

“I’ll, uh. Keep you company then. If you want.”

She smiles coyly. He waits for her to make fun of him, but she just reaches across the counter to nudge him. “Hell yeah I want.”

They settle into a comfortable silence. She gives him a refill without asking. He drops his change into the tip jar when she’s not looking, just because he’ll feel awkward if she sees him do it. She’ll call him to show him some funny video on her phone, or he’ll cough to let her know that her manager, an old guy who Jonathan’s decided is physically incapable of smiling, is passing by so she’ll get off her phone.

After the first hour, Kali asks him, “So, what do you think of the town so far?”

Jonathan looks past his book and at her. He shrugs. “Nothing much. I’m amused by how everything’s got the town name in it.”

“Creative people we are. There’s not much here, and there are a lot of assholes.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, did you think I had more to say? No, that’s it. This town is terrible.”

“Not everyone’s an asshole.”

“Are you complimenting me?”

“Me saying that you’re not an asshole isn’t _that _much of a compliment, but sure.”

Kali smiles. “You’re not an asshole, either. And you tip quite generously.”

“I thought I was being subtle!”

“Even if I’m not looking, I can _hear _the change. Journalists are smarter than that.”

“Oh.”

The bell attached to the door chimes, but Kali’s too distracted by laughing at Jonathan to look that way, so Jonathan doesn’t check either.

“Oh my god. Is that _joy _on Kali Prasad’s face? Are you _smiling?” _A teasing, unfamiliar voice sounds from behind Jonathan.

“My face is incapable of smiling,” Kali drawls, but she’s still smiling, lifting her hands off of the counter to clutch her notepad.

Jonathan looks over his shoulder, and — oh.

For the second time today, his fingers itch for his camera. He wants to take a picture of this man, right after he’s caught his breath, and all from looking at him.

The man has messy hair sticking out in every direction. His breathing is shallow and quick. His hands are shoved deep into his fading, torn jeans. A thread hangs from his red sweatshirt. Like Nancy, there are bags of tiredness underneath his eyes, but it doesn’t translate when Jonathan actually looks into his eyes. All he finds is an endless light.

Endless light that’s staring right back at him.

“Who’s this?” The man says to Kali, eyebrows slowly knitting together.

“You could ask him yourself,” Kali says.

“Who’re you?”

Jonathan feels like he should be more annoyed. Don’t get him wrong: he is. It’s such a weird thing for that man to have said, almost accusatory, even though he’s sure there isn’t any malice behind it. But he’s not _irritated. _He’s almost eager to say, “Jonathan. New in town.”

“Yeah, I noticed. I’m Steve,” he says with a dazzling smile.

They shake hands, because it seems like everyone in this town shakes hands, and Steve plops onto the seat next to Jonathan. “I’m gonna do takeout, but I’m gonna look at the menu first.”

Kali rolls her eyes. “You couldn’t have decided what you wanted on your way here? Before coming? You could make my job so much easier.”

“Literally what work do you have to do. This is requiring you to do nothing. Just. Let me _peruse _the menu.”

“Ooh, word of the day?”

“I’m going to give you a negative tip.”

“Somehow less than what I’m already receiving. Be right back, oh god, that woman’s _snapping _at me, I’m gonna snap her fucking — coming!” Kali chirps. She plasters on a bright smile and pushes past the counter, not before calling out, “Steve, play nice!”

“I _am _nice!” Steve calls out. He shakes his head and looks back to Jonathan. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Jonathan straightens, throat suddenly dry.

Steve yawns into the back of his hand. He sighs and snuggles his head against the counter, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m so tired. I’m going to die.”

“Uh. Don’t.”

He snorts. “You should be a life-coach.”

“I get that a lot.”

“Really?”

“No.”

Another snort. “Comedian might work. I’m sure you’ll get a lot of material from this shit town.”

“It’s not that bad,” Jonathan defends, unsure _why _he’s bothering. “It doesn’t seem all that different from any other small town, but I know I’m just saying this as someone who’s been here for five minutes.”

Steve’s eyes open suddenly and darken. “Trust me. This town’s —” He cuts himself off. “It’s just stupid bullshit,” he says, his voice higher, almost strained. “Regular, stupid bullshit. It’s like. Never escaping high school.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“Extremely! But if you like routine and al, then ‘s a good place to build a family, to find friends that stick around forever, to just find love. You know?”

His chest pangs. “Think I do. Think I’m starting to get it.”

“Dunno if that’s what you came here for, man, but I hope you find whatever you’re looking for.”

Jonathan doesn’t believe in fate. He _doesn’t. _But.

“Are you looking for anything?” Jonathan asks softly.

Steve’s eyes drift shut again. “I’m happy with the way my life is. But lots of people go on, thinking they’re fine the way they are, until something happens, and boom, everything’s changed. Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow, realize I’ve made a mistake, wasted my life. It happens, you know?” Jonathan doesn’t. But bitterness seeps into Steve’s voice, so much so that he’s scowling, so Jonathan just nods. “But I hope it doesn’t. I love my life. I’ve completely bullshitted my way through it, and I don’t deserve any of it, but goddamn. I’m one lucky bastard. And holy shit, you just let me overshare all of that.”

“I didn’t _let _you do anything! How would I cut you off anyway?” Jonathan can’t help but smile, just barely, at this kind of stranger and at his own sleepy, content smile. There’s just something about being surrounded by genuinely happy people, happy people that wish you the same kind of life overflowing with joy too.

“Say, _hey man. Shut the fuck up. I don’t know you.”_

“I think I do now.”

Steve sits up. He blinks slowly. “Cheesiest shit I’ve ever heard in my life, and that’s coming from _me_.”

“Okay, I take it back,” Jonathan says, face flaming.

“Don’t,” Steve says quickly. He buries his hands in his face with another yawn. “Sorry. I’m saying stupid shit. I haven’t slept for awhile. I’d say I’m not normally like this, but that’s a lie.”

“You’re fine.”

“Thanks!”

There’s a crack about the weird definition people have here about compliments on the tip of his tongue that fades when Kali returns. She shimmies back into the space behind the counter. “Are you two best friends now? Where are the bestie bracelets?”

Steve hooks his chin over his hand. “He’s replaced you. So sorry, Kali.”

“Isn’t Robin your best friend?”

“I can only have three, and because you’ve been so mean to me, I’m replacing you with him.”

“Oh thank god.”

Steve makes a face. “Mean.”

Kali leans forward and pinches his cheek. “Cute.”

_Oh. _Jonathan smiles. “How long have you two been together?”

They laugh. Bend over, clutch their stomach, tearing up kind of laughter. And for awhile.

Eventually, Kali’s the first to catch her breath and says, “No, no, no. We’re friends. Just friends. And no suggestive _ooh, only for now. _Like. Only friends.”

Steve wheezes. “Friends. That’s it.”

Jonathan blushes, smiles sheepishly, and stammers out, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Steve says. “Funniest thing I’ve heard all day.”

They’re still laughing. Once it finally sinks in that they’re not doing it at him, he joins them and laughs back.

.

.

.

His first week at Hawkins Post is mundane. It’s standard stuff. It’s not anything different or new or challenging, and they ask him to do some office stuff, typing and organizing and whatnot. But there’s something exhilarating about the officialness of it all. A metal plaque sits on his desk, reading _Jonathan Byers: Photographer, _and he gets so giddy about it that he nearly giggles.

He’s always been a photographer. A job doesn’t have to validate that; the fact that he takes pictures and loves it does.

Still. He’s made it. He’s doing what he loves, getting paid for the work that fulfills his soul.

For an entire week, he’s grateful for Murray, until their first day of whatever it is they’re doing.

“It’s investigating,” Murray supplies, flicking his flashlight on as he steps out of his car.

Jonathan follows suit. He winces at how loud the slam of Murray’s door is when he closes it, and jogs up to catch Murray, who’s already off the side of the road and one foot into the woods. “Does it count if we don’t know what we’re looking for?”

“We don’t need to know what the story is to know that there is a story,” Murray says. He stops. “Are you going to walk this slowly the entire time.”

“I’m not slow,” Jonathan defends haughtily. He pulls his flashlight out of his pocket and shines it in Murray’s face.

Murray doesn’t even blink. He grins. It’s the most horrifying thing Jonathan’s seen in this town. “Come on. We’ve got a mystery to uncover.”

Ten minutes drag by. Branches keep poking Jonathan’s stomach, scraping his arms, hitting his forehead.

“Did I choose the right guy for this?” Murray asks, right before gently pushing Jonathan out of the way to avoid another hit.

“Don’t blame me for your bad decisions.”

“Someone’s testy.”

“I’m just,” Jonathan sighs. He stops in his tracks, points the flashlight up so they can see each other’s faces. “Can you at least tell me something _you’ve _seen? I need something to hold onto. I’m not saying that none of this is real, but I need some proof. Your word is good enough.”

Murray’s lips part. He smiles humourlessly, and it’s so deeply sad that it makes him want to reach out and pat Murray’s arm. “I can trust you.”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Jonathan needs to be careful. This is the most open and serious Murray has been, and he has a feeling that it’s not something Murray’s used to doing. Murray’s not his best friend or anything, but of course he wants his boss to be alright, to not take the trust that he for whatever reason placed upon Jonathan to shatter. “Either way, you can. You can trust me.”

“A long time ago, I had a ...” Memories must flash in his mind. His eyes go blank then wide with emotion, like he’s reliving a million different places, experiences, and feelings. With a blink, he snaps out of it, laughs shakily. Jonathan offers him a weak smile and nods gently. “I had a friend. _He _was into this, got me into it too. Went all in. Smartest guy in this town, in this goddamn world, so if he wanted to know something, course he’d get to the bottom of it. He wanted to know as much as possible about the crazy shit in this town. He got so deep, and I got terrified. Stepped back. Said, I love you man, but you poke a bear, it pokes back. He poked. And the bear fucking —”

Dread coils in Jonathan’s stomach. “Is he dead?”

“I don’t think so. He was messing around with this town’s monsters, trying to get to something. He’s somewhere. I don’t know where, but either way, I gotta try.”

“Have you been? All this time? I mean, how long’s it been?”

Murray puffs out a breath. Jonathan can suddenly see every year on him, age marks etched on his face, tiredness darkening his eyes. “Twelve years.”

All the air knocks out of Jonathan’s lungs. “Shit.”

“Yeah. For awhile I thought he was dead, thought I’d die if I tried, until a few months ago, I found this letter. He put it in a book he borrowed from me and returned a few weeks before he disappeared. Never had the heart to look at it, knew I’d fall apart, you know? But it was his birthday, so I just needed to sit with my sadness. The letter was just — so _him, _god, and I knew, okay, he’s Alexei, he’s alive. He’s _somewhere. _Dunno where, but know that he’s not gone, and if I die trying to get him, then at least I know I lived, right? That I died for something. For love.”

“Okay,” Jonathan says slowly.

Murray looks confused. “What?”

“I believe you. I believe in this. I’m game. Whatever we’re looking for, the books, the _beings, _we’ll find it. And we’ll find Alexei.”

Murray’s mouth isn’t smiling, but his eyes are. “Don’t go all soft on me now.”

Jonathan scoffs. He nudges Murray and points his flashlight ahead of them, taking a step forward. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They don’t end up finding anything, except for a brightly-orange and thick goo coating the bark of a tree and its branches. Jonathan snaps a few pictures. Murray takes notes. That’s really it.

But he thinks he found something else: a better understanding of Murray. He gets it now, what they’re doing.

And he’s all in.

.

.

.

Friday night, at the end of his first week of work, he goes to Hawk’s Cafe. He doesn’t even know who he wants to see most, but he doesn’t overthink it. Just goes.

Funnily enough, the first face he sees is Athena’s.

She’s perched up on a high-stool. A blue pacifier sticks out of her mouth. She spots him and waves, just like the day in the grocery store. Of course Jonathan waves back.

“Do you know this baby, Jonathan?”

He looks up to see Kali in her waitress uniform, bent in front of Athena. She rises to full height and cocks her head to the side.

Jonathan steps towards them. “Kind of? We met in a grocery store.”

“Think you’re going to have to give more details than that.”

“Oh. She waved at me, I waved back, and her mom noticed, and we had, like, a thing.”

“Oh, so you met Nancy! She’s a good friend of mine.”

“She’s cool,” Jonathan says eagerly. He bends down until he’s eye-level with Athena. “Athena’s cooler though.”

Athena sucks on her pacifier.

Kali laughs. “I’m just watching her for a minute. Wanna sit with me?”

“Sure.” He tries to keep his composure as he slips into one side of the booth as Kali does the same on the other side. It’s just Nancy, who’ll be back from the washroom where she presumably went in a minute or two. It’s not a big deal.

From underneath the table, Kali’s foot knocks against his. “Work go okay?”

“Yeah. It’s calmer than I expected. Too many guys in the office, though.”

Kali looks unimpressed. “Saying that kind of stuff won’t get you token points.”

He doesn’t think it’d be appropriate to say why it makes him uncomfortable. The jokes, the loudness, the aggressive masculinity. He’d managed to escape that once his father left and after that, didn’t have that pressure and influence to make stupid, gross jokes, to try and Out Man every other guy in the room. His mom just wanted him to be himself, unlike his father, who wanted Jonathan to be tougher, manlier, stronger. Of course Jonathan knew that men like that existed everywhere, but to spend so much time around them everyday is ... a lot. Luckily, he’s the only photographer at the Post, so he works by himself, mostly. There are weekly meetings, but he can survive seeing those assholes once a week.

Even though he doesn’t want to.

Kali wasn’t saying to be rude. It’s not a big deal. “Just not used to that kind of behaviour. My mom raised us, and she raised us to have, like, basic empathy and stuff. I don’t like those kind of guys, and it seems like those kind of guys are the only type working at the Post.”

Kali softens. “I get that. I’d say it gets better, but.”

“Yeah.”

And here comes the third familiar face. It’s not Nancy.

“Steve?” Jonathan sputters out in disbelief.

Steve stops wiping his hands on his jeans and waves, standing behind Athena. “Hey, man! I see you’ve met the owner of my heart.” He squats slightly and plops a kiss onto Athena’s forehead.

Wait.

“Co-owner,” Kali corrects. “Alongside Nancy, that is.”

Jonathan is officially the biggest idiot in the world. He already knows it’ll be there, but he still searches Steve’s left hand for the same silver ring on Nancy’s. There it is, glinting beneath the cafe’s fluorescent lighting, as he cups his daughter’s cheek.

His and Nancy’s daughter.

Which isn’t a problem. It’s not. He likes Nancy, he likes Steve, he _adores _their daughter, and they’re all a cute, happy family.

Once he remembers how to speak again, he says, “I’ve met both owners of your heart actually.”

Steve’s eyes light up. It’s beautiful, and has absolutely no correlation to the weird thing his heart’s doing. “Really? Shit, wait, are you Murray’s assistant?”

“Not his assistant,” Jonathan groans. “But. _Technically. _Yes. Yes, I am.”

“You saw my daughter’s first wave!” Steve beams. “Thank you for that.”

“No problem. She’s a star.”

“Oh, totally.” Steve scoops Athena up into his arms, nudging her small, button nose with his. “Our little star. I love you, y’know that?”

“He tells her all the time,” Kali says tenderly, watching them with a big smile.

“Good. Kids need to hear it.” And now Jonathan’s choked up for an entirely different reason. What the fuck. _Two _thoughts about his father today is two too many.

“Kali, whenever you can,” Jonathan says, and his voice already sounds off, shaky and low. “Can I have, like. God. Something that will make me happy.”

Kali and Steve stare at him. Even Athena, after a few moments, holds her pacifier still in her mouth and looks at him with wide blue eyes.

“I’m totally fine,” Jonathan says. “And I didn’t mean alcohol. I realize how that sounds.”

“Yeah, that’s not the most concerning part.” Steve frowns. He puts Athena back into her high chair before slipping into the space next to Jonathan. “Dude. It gets better.”

“No, I know it does, it just —” Jonathan runs a hand through his hair. He props both elbows onto the table and buries his face into his hands. “It’s been a day.”

Kali whistles. “That it has. I know just the thing to cheer you up. Be right back.” She makes her exit.

“I know I’m not the most wordy guy,” Steve says, and Jonathan already has to hold his tongue from speaking, “but it really does get better. Things inevitably suck, but they also inevitably _don’t _suck. Shit happens. Life goes on.”

Jonathan lays his head onto the table and rolls it over to look at Steve. “Is Nancy okay with you swearing in front of Athena?”

“I’m expanding her vocabulary!” At Jonathan’s pointed stare, Steve sighs. “_No.”_

"Thank you,” Jonathan says sincerely. He thinks it’s how he’s already said too much tonight that he feels comfortable adding, “Townspeople are so nice. You and Nancy are so _good_. I’m not used to that. Not used to that from total strangers.”

Steve feigns offence with a loud gasp and a hand over his heart. “Total strangers? Nuh-uh. We’re, like. Partial strangers.”

Jonathan laughs. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted only because you’re right. Nance is incredible. There’s no one like her.” Steve smiles dreamily. A flush spreads across his neck. “Dunno how I got so lucky. Love of my dumb life.”

“She’s lucky too,” Jonathan says.

A weird look passes Steve’s face. Shock and pleased and something else he doesn’t have the name for. “I think she’s happy. That’s all I want for her.”

“You really love her.” It’s stupid, because of course Steve loves his wife.

But Steve only nods and touches his ring. “How about you? Anyone special?”

“Not like that.” He’s over-shared enough today. Steve doesn’t need to know about his family, how they’re special, how they’re why he moved here in the first place, how he wants what Steve has — not just the marriage and daughter, but the friendships. A place to call his own. A home.

“One day,” Steve says. “Maybe not tomorrow, but sooner than you think. Loneliness is tough to kill, but you’re going to outlive it. You’re going to crush the little shit, look it right in the eye, and say, hey. I survived. And murder it, hide its body, all that fun jazz. Okay. I’m kind of tired. But I had a coffee and a nap with this one, so I’m good. Mostly.”

“You are wordy,” Jonathan says genuinely. “Thank you.”

Steve smiles. “Not bad advice from a partial stranger, huh?”

"Not bad at all.” Jonathan smiles back right as Kali returns, a pink drink in her hand.

She sets it in front of Jonathan. The three ice cubes inside rattle. “Watermelon juice. Homemade. It’s actually not terrible. I’ll be right back, but try it.”

Jonathan stirs the red straw. “Thank you.”

Kali waves a hand dismissively, already turning around. “Man, I did nothing.”

Steve knocks his knee against Jonathan’s. “It’s good. Isn’t it, Athena? Tell Jonathan to drink it!”

Athena doesn’t. She does clap and suck on her pacifier, which seems close enough.

He tries it. It’s extremely good, sweet and undeniably perfect. This is happiness in liquid form, he decides, and finishes it in two gulps.

Steve laughs a little. “You liked it?”

“What gave it away?”

The bell chimes. Automatically, their heads spin to look at the door.

“Babe!” Steve calls out. He jumps to his feet and practically leaps out of the booth.

Athena claps even harder, babbling loudly.

All Jonathan can do is stare, transfixed as Nancy steps into the cafe.

Nancy and Steve meet in the middle. His arms slot around her shoulders, pulling her in close. She dives her nose into his hair and rises onto her tiptoes. Her fingers sink into his locks of hair, combing through with a gentleness that makes Jonathan feel a lot of things.

Want, mostly. He wants that.

It’s just the way they melt into each other, relief of being in each other’s embrace palpable. Nancy looked dead-tired upon arriving but once she leans back and cups Steve’s face, he can see how she looks rejuvenated, her blue eyes brighter than before.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says, right before she presses her lips against Steve’s.

Jonathan looks away then. He directs his gaze to Athena, who makes grabby hands to the floor. She’s dropped her stuffed bear. Her chin trembles.

He dives to the floor to grab it and gently slides it into her grasp. “Hey,” he says softly. “Here you go. That was probably real scary, but your friend’s back. See? Right here.”

Athena blinks. She presses her cheek against her teddy bear’s head.

“You good?”

“Mm,” Athena says.

He grins. “Yeah, you’re good. You’re great.”

“Adorable.”

Jonathan looks up to see Nancy and Steve in front of the table. Her head rests against his shoulder while his arm hangs around her waist, fitting perfectly. They look comfortable. Cozy. This must be what people mean when they say home is a person.

“So I’ve been told,” Jonathan responds to Nancy. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She makes a cooing sound to Athena, kisses all over her forehead, and murmurs to her in a voice so low that he can’t hear. Then she sits in the booth across him, Steve following after her. “I see you’ve met my husband.”

“Mhm. Met him before actually.”

“Really?” Nancy raises an eyebrow at Steve. “You didn’t mention it.”

“Hey, Nance, I met Murray’s new assistant —”

“Not his assistant,” Jonathan interjects, but his voice lacks any irritation. He twirls the straw in his empty glass, suddenly warm and flushed all over.

He looks at Nancy, at Steve, at Nancy and Steve, at Nancy and Steve and Athena, and asks himself: what the _fuck _are you doing here?

“I should go,” Jonathan insists.

“You don’t have to.” Nancy frowns.

He’s already standing up. “Family time and all. Athena’s totally missed her mom, and I can’t go hogging her time, can I?”

Steve and Nancy share a private, intimate look that he can’t read. It ends with Nancy nestling his shoulder and Steve hooking his chin over her head.

“We should hangout sometime,” Steve says. “You don’t have to give us your numbers. I’ll give you mine, and if you want to use it, you can.”

“It’s a small town, and this is your fourth time running into us, so you can’t avoid us, but we can pretend not to know you if that’s how you want it.” Nancy pulls a pen out from her purse and passes it to Steve.

He can’t imagine why he’d ever want that.

Steve scribbles his phone number onto a napkin and passes it to Jonathan. It’s so old-fashioned. That’s why he’s smiling when he accepts the napkin from Steve and shoves it into his pocket. That’s the only reason why. “If you had to pretend then, would you guys be good at acting?”

“No,” Steve says.

“I’m an excellent liar,” Nancy says.

Steve makes a face. “You’re not.”

“Not with you! But with everyone else, yeah. I can’t lie to you.”

“Aw. That’s cute.”

She nuzzles his neck, her mouth curved into a smile.

Jonathan swallows. He steps out of the booth. “Have a good night guys.”

“Tell me, will Steve get a text from you?” Nancy asks, her tone light.

He doesn’t even have a witty response. He’s tired, in so many ways, and here are two people he likes, very much, with their daughter who he also likes, very much, sitting at a table with the empty drink another person he likes, very much, gave him. Sometimes you just need to tell people you like them. Sometimes there’s nothing else to say, nothing else that should be said.

“Yes,” Jonathan says.

Steve smiles, a small and intimate thing.

Nancy's eyes shine.

Athena kicks the air.

Jonathan leaves a five dollar bill for the drink Kali gave him. He takes the napkin out of his pocket and raises it, shakes it slightly, as he walks backwards, a tiny smile on his face. He turns around once he’s reached the door, still clutching the napkin once he’s reached his car.

It’s been a good week. As he walks home, opting for a shortcut passing the woods that Murray showed him, he decides that Hawkins might be good for him. Maybe he’ll find what he’s looking for after all.

The town isn’t as strange as he expected. He believes Murray, believes everything his boss has said, but he was expecting something more.

He doesn’t know what the fuck he was expecting by having that thought because five minutes later, a low, gravelly voice stops him dead in his tracks.

“STOP WALKING. STAY WHERE YOU ARE.”

Obviously, Jonathan doesn’t do that. He turns around, faces the source of the sound: the woods.

He can’t see much, except for a silhouette through the moonlight. It’s a person. Probably. Most likely.

“WE SAID STAY WHERE YOU ARE!”

“Um. Okay? What do you want?”

“STOP DIGGING AROUND.”

“For what?”

“YOU KNOW.”

“Nope.”

“GOD. JUST. UGH.”

He’s terrified. Honestly. But there’s something off. There isn’t a gun to his head, a claw at his throat, a tentacle suffocating him. Just a voice in the shadows, without so much as a threat.

“Who are you? I might be more inclined to drop whatever it is you want if you reveal yourself.” He winces at his tone, lack of subtly so strong it hurts.

But the stranger makes a considerable humming noise. “FINE.”

His heart begins pounding. Palms sweat. Legs wobble. Now the true terror sinks in, scraping away at him, at his confidence in this decision to move here.

But he digs his feet into the ground. Stands tall. Tips his chin up. He can be afraid and brave at the same time.

The shadow shifts, falls apart like mist. A split second later and there he is.

Wait.

Jonathan rubs his eyes to ensure he’s not hallucinating. Once he looks back at the figure that emerged, it’s clear that no, he really did just see four gnomes stacked up on each other, wobbling and struggling to remain one figure.

“Stop fucking this town up!” The bottom gnome yells, voice high.

The most top gnome scowls. “Hey! We agreed to speak in unison! It’s more _threatening.”_

“What the fuck,” Jonathan says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like my last fic, this was meant to be a one-shot. hahahahahaha, why am i like this. 
> 
> alexei/murray goes out to bri, who is right about everything and should write stranger things. 
> 
> we're looking at weekly updates, folks! if you'd like to, come reblog the photoset on tumblr [here](https://trulyalpha.tumblr.com/post/189128443496/stranger-falls-after-getting-a-job-offer-at-a), and say hi on [tumblr!](https://trulyalpha.tumblr.com) i'd love to know what you think of this au that i'm fondly referring to as Dear God What Is This. take care. until the next one. 💛


	2. Chapter 2

“JUST GIVE US WHAT WE WANT AND WE WON’T HURT YOU.”

“Can you really hurt me though?” probably isn’t a question Jonathan should be asking, but he feels entitled to it considering he’s staring down at three gnomes stacked on each other who are threatening him. Trying to, at least.

“_Hey!” _The middle one glares. He sticks a hand out, like he’s about to strike Jonathan. It only causes the gnome on top to stumble and grip onto the lower one’s beard to keep from falling. They hiss at one another, but steady their structure.

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about.” Jonathan slowly steps back. “I can’t stop doing something that I’m not doing.”

“Don’t play stupid,” the bottom gnome huffs. “We _will _kill you.”

And look. Jonathan knows, okay. They’re just gnomes. The fuck’s a gnome gonna do?

But he’s not going to stand here and find out.

“Okay.” Jonathan struggles to hear his own voice over the thud of his heartbeat. “But can you chase me?”

It takes maybe five minutes to outrun the three gnomes, another five until Jonathan’s legs burn, and seven more until he reaches Murray’s house. By then, the sky has fully darkened, stars twinkling above what he _thought _was a small, sleepy town, but what he now knows is a small, strange town. So fucking strange.

He bangs his fists against Murray’s front door, too breathless to call him, too tired to put together a text.

After twenty seconds, Murray’s door flies open. A gun points at Jonathan’s face.

“What the _fuck.” _Jonathan staggers backwards, hands raised, heartbeat picking even faster. “It’s me! It’s Jonathan.”

Murray pokes his head out. “You ever heard of a phone call?”

Jonathan tugs at his hair. This isn’t Murray’s fault, he knows that, but the irritation in Murray’s voice, as though Jonathan’s being an _idiot _makes it hard to understand that. “You ever heard of _gnomes_ in this town, because you sure as shit didn’t try warning me!”

Murray blinks. Lowers the gun. Steps back. “Well. Come inside then.”

.

.

.

Murray gives him green tea in a pug-shaped mug, seats him at his dining table that’s small and tiny and probably can’t fit more than two people, and sits across from him.

“Before you yell at me,” Murray starts.

“For which thing? Not warning me that maybe the things in this town wouldn’t like us digging around, or for the _gun _in my face?”

“For both. Before you continue doing what you’ve already started, tell me if you’re hurt.”

“No.”

“Where did they find you?”

“I was passing the forest on my way home.”

“How do you feel?”

“Fine now. But kind of pissed. You’re supposed to —” His voice cracks. He stops, shudders a breath in, stares into his tea. He cannot believe what the rest of his sentence was supposed to be: _you’re supposed to protect me. _As if Jonathan wasn’t an adult, like Murray’s his —

Oh god. Definitely not going there tonight.

But Murray nods and says, “Yeah, I know,” like he understands. Like he feels bad about it.

Jonathan’s face burns. He sips from his mug, relishing in the burn down his throat. “Did you know something like this would happen?”

“Not know in definitive terms, but I mean. I should’ve seen it coming. I’m ...” Murray’s face pinches up. He fiddles with the handle of his cat-shaped mug, mouth twisting before he blurts out, “Sorry. Okay, so are you still pissed or can I ask for every detail about the gnomes and if you’d be comfortable going back to _see _them?”

.

.

.

Jonathan says no to going back to the forest today, but he describes everything, offers his own thoughts.

“I think there might be more of them. I don’t know, I just can’t see it being only three. We need to tell them something anyway, right? If most of this town’s non-recognized residents live in the woods, then we can’t just avoid it forever.”

Murray looks up from his notepad with a sly grin. “Suddenly you’re a supernatural expert.”

“Shut up.”

“I like it!”

Murray considers this a success, in its own way. Their first sighting. Their first bit of progress. Jonathan bites back any snide remarks, because he can see a light spark up in Murray’s eyes that’s starting to become familiar. Hope.

Who is he to dim that for Murray?

After an hour, without having to be asked, Murray drives Jonathan home. They thank each other quietly. From how Murray avoids meeting Jonathan’s eyes, it’s clear that he feels guilty.

“I’m really fine,” Jonathan says. “And now you know that I can outrun a bunch of gnomes.”

Murray barks out a laugh. Early moonlight catches his glasses. He tilts his head up, looks Jonathan in the eyes, and smiles.

.

.

.

He wakes up early that Saturday. Cleans up. Hangs pictures of his family in the kitchen. Walks around the cabin with his phone in his hand, thumb hovering over send, before he finally pushes it.

**Jonathan: **Here’s your text from me.

It’s not the witty message he was aiming for, but it’ll do. He stares at the text as it sends and delivers, before forcibly closing the app, playing some music, and heading off to the kitchen to make breakfast.

Steve responds with a picture. 

He’s got Athena strapped to his chest. His fingers are wrapped around her wrist, positioning her hand into a wave. His smile is wide and sleepy.

Jonathan doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. Just spends a second too long looking at the picture before going on about his day.

.

.

.

A week of work passes. The following Friday, Murray takes Jonathan back to the woods, where they wait for the gnomes.

“Just three gnomes, right?” Murray retrieves his gun from the backseat.

Jonathan tries not to wince at it. He avoids the sight completely by kicking at a leaf on the ground. He doesn’t like guns for a myriad of reasons, one obviously being the danger behind it, but also because he can’t think look at a gun without thinking about his father forcing him to shoot a rabbit in the woods. His father never outright said what it was for, but he didn’t have to. Jonathan knew he wasn’t man enough for his father, knew that his father wanted more. Wanted aggression, strength, abrasiveness. Didn’t want Jonathan.

But that was fine. Jonathan didn’t want him back.

Jonathan pushes the thoughts of his piece of shit father and leans against Murray’s car. “Only three gnomes. What if bullets don’t work?”

Murray kicks his car door shut and locks his car. “You brought that lighter, right?”

“Right.”

“Then set the demons on fire.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.”

“Jonathan, they tried to kill you.”

“They didn’t try. They just threatened to.”

Murray snorts. He does something with the bullets that Jonathan doesn’t understand, but has seen in a few old action movies that his mom always liked. “_Just_ _threatened_,” he repeats mockingly. “Gotta stop being so nice.”

“I’m not nice,” Jonathan says briskly. He hunches his shoulders, thumbing the lighter in his pocket. “I make fun of you. Regularly.”

“You’re not very good at it.”

“Can we just find these stupid gnomes!”

“You’re the one who should know how to find them!”

Jonathan shoots Murray a pointed glare. He steps forward and cups his hands around his mouth. “HEY! GNOMES! LET’S CHAT!”

It’s stupidly coincidental that the same three gnomes emerge from the woods at that exact moment. They look agitated, but at least have their stack put together better, less wobbling and swaying, their backs straight, chins held high.

The top one eyes Murray. “Is this your leader?”

“No,” Jonathan says, right as Murray proclaims, “YES, and I want to talk to you.”

“With a gun,” the same gnome replies.

Jonathan shrugs. He clutches the lighter in his pocket. “He gets fidgety. And, you know, you threatened to _murder me _last week.”

“But we haven’t done it yet!” The bottom gnome exclaims. “So have you stopped digging?”

“No, and we won’t,” Murray says. 

“WHAT!?” 

“You don’t scare us,” Murray continues calmly.

“And we’re not afraid of you,” Jonathan adds. “Look at you. You’re not intimidating. You have a collective height of four feet. And there are only _three_ of you.”

It’s when the three gnomes smirk at each other that Jonathan understands what he’s done.

Murray cocks his gun and hisses. “You had to —” He doesn’t get to finish the sentence.

He feels it first. The ground rumbling. Trees shaking. He loses his balance, has to grip Murray’s arm to keep from falling over.

Murray’s shooting wildly, but there’s no use. Dozens upon dozens of gnomes scatter into view and together, transforming, transforming, transforming. Jonathan looks around, hands outstretched, waving manically for someone to see, but there’s no one here. 

Several dozens, possibly over a hundred gnomes, laughing, piling on each other. All forming one, giant, murderous gnome.

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan hears himself saying. He glances at Murray.

Murray, who’s shooting off at the giant gnome that’s almost finished getting together. Murray, whose gun isn’t doing _anything _to any of the gnomes, Murray, who’s just as close to an injury or a possible death as Jonathan is.

Murray, who looks fucking _delighted._

“Use your phone, take pictures. I have an idea. Ooh, and get in the car. We’re leading them back to my place.”

“_Why!?” _

But Murray’s already racing into the driver’s seat. Jonathan hops into the passenger’s seat as the Giant Gnome lets out a low, thunderous growl that reverberates throughout the car and shakes him to his very core.

“Oh my god,” he says under his breath. He fumbles with his phone, but once he has it swiped open, snaps picture after picture, heart lodged in his throat. 

“I know, right!?” Murray says giddily, screeching off down the road.

“Care to share your idea!?”

“I own a _wind-blower!”_

“Why would that work!?”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“My obituary will say that I was killed by a _gnome.”_

“And what a way to go.”

Jonathan turns around. Giant Gnome trails after that, one step and laugh at a time. “Give me your gun. I think if I shoot at a certain angle, I can knock ‘em off each other. Won’t be efficient, but might as well get going.”

Murray passes the gun to Jonathan with one hand. “You know how to use it?”

Unwanted flashes of his father’s angry, drunken slur, of a rabbit’s eyes open forever, of the sound of a _bullet _appear in his mind. Jonathan swallows. “I have experience.” 

He picks up the gun, the cold metal burning holes into his skin, and cranks the car window open with his other hand. He sticks his head out. Aims his gun. Fires.

He misses the first two tries. The third one he manages to nail the gnome square in the foot. It scowls, clutches its foot, and topples over, causing the two on top of it to fall down as well. Giant Gnome doesn’t stop for them, nor do they catch up.

Maybe the bullets don’t hurt like bullets do on humans, but are like. Rubber bands. Sharp pain. Enough to throw you off your rhythm. 

He won’t delude himself into thinking he can stop an army of gnomes. But he can believe that he’ll inconvenience them, slow them down.

In the seven minute drive, he knocks down twenty-one gnomes. He slumps with relief when Murray announces that they’re at his place, but also stiffens with terror. “A wind-blower will not work!”

“Your gun tactic did, so why won’t this? Relax, kid. I told you I’d keep you safe.”

Jonathan isn’t touching the flutter in his chest Murray’s words provoke with a ten-foot pole. He nods and jumps out of the car, continuing to fire. Murray rifles through a chest by his front porch. Giant Gnome is getting closer and closer. Jonathan nabs another two gnomes, but that doesn’t change the seventy-something gnomes still stacked on one another.

“IF YOU ONLY LISTENED TO US,” Giant Gnome yells.

Jonathan gulps. He looks up at the monster, barely able to see all of it with its insane height. He grips the gun, but just. Can’t continue shooting.

His voice is shaking, but he speaks anyway. “Why don’t you want us to look into this town’s mysteries?”

“BECAUSE! YOU’RE GOING TO EXPOSE US, KILL US, AND WE CAN’T HAVE YOU _RUINING _THE FABRIC OF THIS TOWN.” Giant Gnome looks pissed, but it doesn’t outright attack Jonathan.

He can work with that.

“No, we aren’t! I promise.”

Giant Gnome scowls. It’s quite impressive that all of the gnomes managed to do that together. “WE KNOW THAT YOU’RE BOTH JOURNALISTS. YOU DO THIS FOR A LIVING.”

“I _promise _you that this isn’t us getting a story!”

“THEN WHAT IS IT FOR?”

“We’re looking for someone!”

“HOW DOES THAT CORRELATE TO YOU SNOOPING AROUND?”

“Because — because the person we’re looking for snooped around! We think that’s why he went missing, so we only want him back! I promise you. We’re in journalism, yes, but this isn’t about a story. It’s about a person. We just want to bring him home. Please. Help us bring him home.”

Silence.

Jonathan doesn’t know what’s happened to Murray, but he can’t just stop and turn around. He’s committed to this. 

All of the gnomes glance at each other, share long looks, silent conversations that he can’t understand. 

Finally, the gnome at the very top climbs down the structure. It hangs off of the fifth gnome from the ground up. It’s at eye-level with Jonathan.

“Who’s this person?” it asks.

“Alexei ... something. He’s a good friend of Murray, my boss. He was very interested in all of this and just went missing one day. We think he’s _somewhere, _but we can’t get anywhere if we don’t know anything about the world he was trying to find. So we’re here. Trying to find it too. He recorded his findings in leather-bound books, but we can’t find those either. If you choose to help us, and if that’s by not killing us then, still, thank you, you can always just kill us if we break our promise. Not that we will! But you can keep an eye on us, if you want, and that way you’ll know.”

It’s hard to read the expressions of a gnome. After several long moments, the gnome speaks again. “What’s your name? Full name. We know your last name, licence plate, address, place of occupation, date of birth, _place _of birth, but not your first name.”

That makes no sense, but Jonathan’s not about to say that. “Jonathan. And you are?” He offers his hand.

The gnome blinks at him. Stares at his hand. Curls its lower lip in disgust. “Ted.” Ted gingerly shakes Jonathan’s hand. His grip is cold, wooden, and stiff.

“So, what have you and your, um, friends decided?”

A gnome from from far back shouts, “We’re cool now!”

Ted sighs. “We were going to say that together, but yes. We’re cool. This isn’t the last you’ll see of us. But it’s been a pleasure, Jonathan. Sorry for like. The murder attempt.”

“No problem.” Jonathan laughs shakily and runs a hand through his hair. Adrenaline courses through him. He bounces on his feet, buzzing with energy, with life, with the fact that he’s survived his first encounter with a Giant Gnome no less. “Thank you, Ted.”

He watches the gnomes run off, Ted waving goodbye, and waits until they’re out of sight and the rumbling stops.

“Good work, kid.”

Jonathan spins around. “_Hey! _What happened to you and your magic wind-blower, huh?”

Murray saunters towards him, his hands shoved deep in his pocket. “I saw you killing it with words. So simple, so effective. You did great.”

“You should’ve came after me,” Jonathan tries to grit out. But his anger is already dissipating, the fire died down to a few remaining sparks. 

“And blew it by literally blowing them?” Murray pauses. “You know what I meant. Look, you handled it better than I could. That wasn’t me leaving you to fend for yourself. You had it. You were _capable_, and more so than me. So do you want to yell at me some more or come inside so I can give you something to eat in compensation for this job?”

“And for saving your life,” Jonathan mutters.

Murray rolls his eyes. It’s almost fond. “And for saving my life.”

.

.

.

The two days following the gnome incident finds him and Will with a scheduled Skype call.

When his billion year-old laptop stops lagging and Will’s face finally fills up the screen, Jonathan’s heart expands.

“Look who it is! Big shot photographer!”

“First year university _scholar!”_

“Big man, new town, a house all on his own!”

“It’s a cabin. That the Chief’s old friend got me.”

Will rolls his eyes. “First of all, Hop’s not even the Chief. Second of all, he’s mom’s boyfriend. Not a figure of authority. Why can’t you accept that?”

“I accept it,” Jonathan defends hotly. “I just ...”

“Don’t like it?”

“If he treats her well, then I’m fine with it. I don’t care about the rest.”

“You don’t like him.”

“I’m not going to call him Dad or anything.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. Just. _Hopper.”_

“Fine. Hopper. Are you happy?”

“Yeah,” Will says, his voice much softer. He leans against his bedroom wall, legs crossed on his bedsheets. The background is the familiar baby blue that both brothers painted the summer their father left them, one of Jonathan’s photographs of Will and their mom visible in the corner of Jonathan’s screen. “I miss you. I knew I would, and I’m still surprised at how bad it hurts.”

A familiar pang strikes him. “Me too. I didn’t want to leave you, or Mom, and I don’t think I regret it, but I’d give anything to see you. In person.”

“Me too.”

A comfortable silence falls between them. Jonathan clutches his pillow to his chest and shimmies back until he’s pressed against his bed’s headboard. “Tell me about school,” he says through the lump in his throat.

They talk back and forth. Eventually, Will asks if Jonathan’s made friends.

“A few,” he admits, already smiling. “There’s the waitress at that cafe, I sent you a picture of the sign —”

Will snickers. “Ugliest design I’ve ever seen. I could design something better than that at twelve.”

“Well, obviously,” Jonathan says genuinely. “Anyway, the waitress there is cool and I’ve kept her company during her shifts. And then there’s this, um. Married couple, think they’re my age. They have a daughter. She’s a baby and she’s adorable. They’re all good people. I think we’re friends? Should I ask? Okay, no, I shouldn’t. But I don’t know how to tell, and that’s very sad, and we can skip over that, and to you please helping me out.”

Will chuckles. “Yeah, okay. The way I think about it is like, do they initiate conversations? Do they offer social media, exchange numbers? Does the conversation flow easily? Do we talk about surface level stuff or talk about that too but also meaningful stuff? And their body posture, like, are they casual, comfortable, kinda all over the place, or al stiff? Stuff like that. Does that help?”

In his brain, he puts checkmarks next to everything Will’s said. Relief washes over him. “Yeah. Thanks, bud.”

“I’m eighteen. Quit calling me bud,” Will says, smiling.

“You’re still a baby. You can’t even drink yet.”

“I _can. _Just not legally.”

Which leads to a whole other conversation.

.

.

.

An hour after the phone-call, Jonathan walks to Hawk’s Cafe, suddenly inspired. He hasn’t gone all week. Hasn’t seen Kali, Nancy, or Steve either, but now he’s suddenly itching to. He thinks he has friends, and that’s anxiety-inducing, exciting, or both. Probably both.

His eyes scan the cafe. Unfortunately, Kali isn’t on shift. 

But someone else is still here.

Nancy and Jonathan’s gazes meet at the same time. She’s sitting at a booth by herself. Comfortable clothing, sweatpants and a sweatshirt, her hair pulled into a ponytail. “Hey stranger.”

Jonathan wanders to her table. He quickly looks over her table. Half-full cup of coffee, laptop in front of her, files to her left, and a pen in between her fingers. “Hey. Busy?”

“Just finished, actually. Athena and Steve are sleeping, but the house is too big of a mess for me to work. I just can’t work in a messy environment, and cleaning is stressful, which is why I’m here. You?”

Jonathan forcefully shrugs. “Thirsty?”

“You meeting anyone?”

“No,” he answers, a little too quickly. 

Her eyebrows raise. She stares.

He stares back. “If you want me to stay, you might have to literally say so.”

“Can’t you just take my social clue?”

“Social clues are so ... urgh. Things would be so much easier if people said what they were thinking and how they felt.” Jonathan sits across from her, folds his hands into his lap, already regretting his words.

Nancy cocks her head to the side. She shuts her laptop screen. “So do you do that then? You say how you feel?”

“It’s too early to be called out on my bullshit,” he says honestly.

She snorts out a laugh. “Self-awareness is the first step to improvement.”

“Is that the case for all issues?” He doesn’t know why he says that, or why he continues: “Say your problem wasn’t directly something you were doing or weren’t, but associated with you. Maybe you’re feeling ... lost, sad, whatever. Is self-awareness the first step?”

“It’s a step. I don’t know what the next one you take would be, but it’s something. You can’t prescribe medicine if you don’t know what the illness is. Right?”

“Right.”

“But you also can’t do that without going to a doctor first.”

“You’re losing me.”

“Sometimes you’ve gotta say, hey! I’m having a shit time!”

Jonathan smiles a little, just at how loudly and unabashedly she says it. “To who?”

“People you love.”

He almost asks _and if you don’t have anyone? _Which isn’t even true. He has his family. He’s always had them.

But he can’t tell them that he’s lonely, that he doesn’t think he’s lived the way you’re supposed to, that he’s ever really lived. He can’t worry them, not with all that they’ve been through together, especially not now that he’s thousands of miles away where they can’t help him the same way they could if he was home. He can’t do that to them. At least not yet. “Should I bother saying that this is all hypothetical or for a friend?”

Nancy smiles. He searches, but he can’t find pity or sympathy in it. Just a hint of tenderness. “It’s okay. We all have our shit.”

The knot in his chest unties, sets his bones at ease. His face lifts into a smile. “How do you townsfolk have me spilling my guts to you in less than five minutes of conversation? First your husband, now you.”

“Well, Steve’s just designed to make you feel comfortable and safe and like you can say anything to him because you can.” Fondness brightens her eyes at the mention of her husband’s name. “But for me, it’s, oh, I don’t know. You experienced my daughter’s first wave with me. You’re not, like, a stranger stranger.”

“Partial stranger?”

“Yeah. I guess you feel comfortable with me too, maybe because of that.”

“Does that go both ways?”

She tucks a stray of hair away from her face. “Yeah. Think so. But I’m a pretty hard cookie to crack. There are like, levels of friendship here that take years to go through.”

“Has Steve gotten through them all?”

“Oh no. No one has. So good luck.”

“Who said I wanted to go through them all? Maybe we’ll be, like, casual friends.”

“Something tells me you don’t do casual.”

His face heats up. He doesn’t think Nancy meant it to mean anything, especially because her cheeks redden and she takes a sudden and long sip of her mug. Still. It takes them a few seconds to recover from that.

“I am happily married,” she blurts out. “I love Steve.”

“Oh. Yeah. He’s cool.”

“I’m sorry! That sounded so weird. I’m not flirting.”

“Yeah. No, yeah. Neither am I.”

“No, I know! It just sounded like I was.”

“It didn’t. I probably wouldn’t notice if you were either way.”

Nancy laughs. Her shoulders shake. Foot grazes his from underneath the table. “Tell me. What do you think of this town?”

“It’s weird. But I don’t hate it. That’s a raving review from me.”

“Its people aren’t too ... _ugh?”_

“No. The people are, you know.” He searches for the right word. Leaning back, he looks around the cafe, the orange and white tiles, the group of girls at the very back, the elderly couple near two tables away, and the woman by herself, reading a book at the counter. They all look content. They all look like regular people. This is by all accounts a regular town. Sure, he hasn’t had much interaction the people in it with, but he doesn’t move through town tense. Shoulders hunched. Nails dug into his palms. Arms folded tightly. Like back home. He moves through town easily. Jaw unclenched. Hands swinging. A damn near skip to his steps.

It’s not a describable difference. There’s just something about Hawkins and its residents that makes it easier to breathe, the vicious gnomes included.

“I like the people here,” he says finally. 

“My daughter likes you.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do. Mother’s intuition or whatever. Here’s the thing. She’s got this super-power. She can totally weed out the assholes, determine who’s a good person or not.”

“You’re about to tell me I’m an asshole, aren’t you?” He grins, all soft and teasing.

"Oh, definitely,” she deadpans. “You’re an asshole, get out of my booth, I just let you stay here so I can give you advice, so now please go.”

“You say please to assholes?”

“Oh my god, I was just trying to compliment you. I take it back.”

“Thank you.”

“No, I took it back.”

“But I know what you were going to say. So thank you.”

She groans and lightly kicks him underneath the table.

“Why are you hitting me,” he laughs, kicking her back. “I just thanked you!”

“Okay fine. I’ll stop.” She raises a finger. Her mouth curves upwards into a half-smile. “Only because my daughter likes you.”

He bites his growing smile. His cheeks ache from all the smiling he’s done today, and it’s only been five minutes. He’s filled with warmth, giddy with it, and it’s all so foreign and new and he doesn’t know what’s going on, except that he suddenly loves blue and coffee and he feels good in a way he doesn’t think he ever has. “Okay.”

She pushes her empty mug towards him. “Go order your own drink and get me a refill?”

Of course, he takes the mug, but not without saying, “Where’s my please?”

She barks out a laugh and sinks into the booth. “Hey, asshole,” she says, and he’s already laughing. “Please get my coffee refilled.”

“Better. Will do.” He stands up, shimmies out of the booth, and heads towards the front counter.

“In case it wasn’t obviously and completely clear, since we established that people should just say what they feel, then you’re the complete opposite of an asshole,” she calls out.

Jonathan lets his smile grow. He bounces on the balls of his feet, breathes in and out a few times, and looks over his shoulder. “You too. I hate a lotta people, but uh, not you.” He turns back around suddenly. No way he’d be able to handle the look on her face at his words.

But still, he catches a flash of her smile, a note of her giggle. He practically skips the rest of the way to the front counter and thinks about how this must be what soaring feels like.

.

.

.

A few days later, Jonathan steps back into the cabin after work to find a group of fairies just. Buzzing by his front door.

His eyes widen, hand still squeezing the doorknob. “Um. Hello?”

“Jonathan Byers?” A pink fairy asks, voice deep.

“Yes?”

“The gnomes sent us. Said you had questions.”

“Mhm?”

“So? The questions.”

“Can I make a phone-call real quick?”

Several of the fairies groan and buzz around the open space, above his photos, and then down the hallway. 

“Well, it’s not like you told me in advance that you’d be coming!” He shouts after them. Murray thankfully arrives shortly after the phone-call, expectedly bursting with excitement.

His second experience with the supernatural, compared to the first, is much calmer. They sit in his kitchen, Murray and Jonathan next to each other, with the pink fairy hovering in front of them. The rest, five of them, fly around in the cabin, “WEE”-ing as they go.

“His name’s Alexei,” Murray says breathlessly.

“I remember him,” the pink fairy, who’d introduced herself as Lizzie. “What a kind man! Such a gentle soul.”

Murray nearly sobs with relief.

Jonathan awkwardly touches his shoulder, pats him a couple of times. “Can you tell us anything about what happened to him? His research notes? What he was looking for?”

“He was trying to find an explanation for this town,” Lizzie explains. “Hawkins’ weirdness is unique to Hawkins itself. He wanted to understand the source of it all.”

“Well, don’t you know about that?” Jonathan asks. “Since you must’ve come from that source yourself.”

“Our kind have been here for so long that we don’t know. Hawkins is our home as far as we’re concerned. But it’s not Earth. That much I know.”

“So like a different planet?” Jonathan pushes.

“No,” Murray says slowly. He removes his glasses. Rubs his eyes. Laughs hollowly. “That bastard. Jesus. I’d bet everything that that’s where he is. That source. It’s not a different planet, it’s not even in our universe. I mean, it’s part of it. But not a place we can reach with a plane or rocketship. It’s a different dimension. Right?”

Lizzie nods with a grave expression.

“So he must’ve built something then,” Jonathan says. “Like. A portal?”

“Unfortunately, we have no idea,” Lizzie says apologetically. “But he hid his findings in this very building.”

A shiver rolls down Jonathan’s spine. “Why would he ... oh. Oh my _god, _you didn’t tell me he used to live here!”

Murray shrugs. “It didn’t come up.”

“You piece of —”

“Look around,” Lizzie continues. “Sneaky man he was. The key to where he is now must be here.”

“I’ve scoured the entire place,” Murray says. 

“Keep looking,” Lizzie says. “You have to keep trying. You’ll get there.”

.

.

.

The rest of the weekend is spent searching for any of Alexei’s research, but to no avail. Two hours and two cups of coffee later, Jonathan and Murray sprawl out in Jonathan’s living room.

On the floor, Murray tucks a throw-pillow that came with the cabin, that must’ve belonged to Alexei, underneath his head and crosses his legs. “You’ll look? When you can?”

Jonathan stares at the ceiling. He sinks into the couch cushions. “Of course.”

“Sorry for not telling you about this being his place. I just didn’t think you’d appreciate that.”

“Yeah, no, it’s whatever. I noticed that there aren’t any of Alexei’s pictures here.”

“He had a couple. I took ‘em.”

“He had no family?”

“He’s Russian. Left his family there, but I mean, they left him first.”

Jonathan waits for Murray to elaborate, but he doesn’t. He won’t push. “Can I see a picture of him?”

Murray nods. He sits up, pulls his wallet out of his jeans, and slides a folded up photo out with his forefingers. “Here.”

Jonathan takes the picture. Unfolds it. Trace each and every worn-out crease. It’s a picture of a younger Murray, full head of hair, moon-glasses still on. Next to him is a blonde curly-haired man, with glasses as well. His arm is wrapped around Murray’s shoulder. He’s pressing his cheek against Murray, his pink lips stretched into a smile.

Murray’s looking into the camera with a dry grin, but Alexei’s looking at him.

“Oh,” Jonathan says.

“What?”

“Nothing. I mean. Not nothing. He loved you, you know? So much. I can tell by the way he’s looking at you.”

Murray scoots back, presses his back against the sofa. He peers up at the picture with an empty laugh. “I loved him too. I loved him, and I never told him, and he never knew.”

_Of course he knew, _Jonathan nearly says, but that’s not what Murray means. Instead he lays a tentative hand on Murray’s back. “You’re going to tell him when you see him. It’s not too late.”

“It’s been twelve years.”

“_It’s not too late._”

Murray drags his finger down Alexei’s smile. “You’re the only person who’s come close to having as much good as he had in him.”

It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever told him. “Sounds like an honour to me,” Jonathan says honestly. 

Murray’s smile is soft. “It is.”

.

.

.

Four days later, he runs out of his treasured _Sugar-Coated Marshmallow _cereal, prompting him to go to the grocery store. In that very aisle, he bumps into Steve.

Well. Steve bumps into him.

“Ow,” Jonathan curses under his breath.

“Shit, I’m — Jonathan?”

Jonathan turns around. His basket falls out of his hand and to the floor when he sees Steve, Athena strapped to his chest. “No, you’re Steve.”

“That was terrible.” But Steve’s laughing as he pulls his grocery cart back. “Sorry about that. Total accident. Athena’s pacifier fell onto my shirt, so I got distracted.”

“It’s all fine. Hey, Athena,” Jonathan says, much softer. 

She’s not looking at him, but at Steve. Which. Fair. 

“She’s had a long morning. Very long. So long. Bad news: she can cry for as long as she wants. Good news: she’s got stamina!”

Jonathan chuckles. He grabs ahold of his basket again and steps towards them in the narrow aisle space. “Day off?”

“Year off. I’m a teacher at Hawkins’ middle school. They’re very accommodating, so when I asked if I could take a year off to take care of my kid, they said yes. What about you? Day off?”

“They said I could work home today. Just editing some stuff, as well as their website, apparently. They don’t have a graphic designer, so that just. Fell into my hands.”

“Well, are you good at it?”

“I’m not _terrible. _My brother, he’s, uh, into art. He’s pretty good at graphic design, so some of that is stuff I’ve absorbed over the years.”

“That’s cool!” Steve nods enthusiastically, absentmindedly rubbing Athena’s back as his eyes light up. Jonathan can’t help but think about how rare his level of genuineness is. “Definitely see the big brother vibes now.”

Jonathan lets out a strangled laugh. “Care to expand?”

“You know. Nance told me you were good with Athena when you guys met, and you’re, like. Exhausted in the way all older siblings are. Patient. You can do shit for yourself. Like buy your own cereal!”

“You’re aware that you found me buying my own cereal while you’re also buying your own cereal?”

“I’m different. I’m a parent.”

“So when you and Nancy were together, you never bought any groceries?”

“She had to teach me how. Then I did!”

“Teach you how ... wait, back up, you know I live alone, right? So if I don’t buy myself groceries, then no one else will, and I’ll —”

“Kay, never-mind, you give me no vibes, your vibe sucks, and I regret saying that.”

Jonathan laughs. “What about you, hm? Any siblings? You’re definitely not the oldest. Youngest?”

Steve coughs. He shifts his gaze down to Athena and gives her a small bounce, his body suddenly stiff. “I guess I’m the middle child. Technically.”

Jonathan briefly shuts his eyes and internally berates himself. But then he figures that it was an innocent question. He couldn’t have known that it would be a touchy subject.

He opens his eyes and Steve’s entire face has darkened. Never-mind. It’s totally his fault. 

“Sorry,” Jonathan says. “You don’t have to explain.”

“Here’s the run-down: my piece of shit — oh, crap, I mean, god, okay, wait — my _terrible _father woke up one morning twelve years ago, went, wow, I’m a terrible father and husband and I need to prove this, so he left my mom and me, got with his assistant, had three kids, and thought. Hey! I am _worse _than they think! I’ll stay in the same town as them, and make life very awkward and uncomfortable. Like. Eventually, I’ll have to teach them. Can you imagine that? The _parent _conferences. I’m going to run a _parent _conference with my _parent!”_

Athena begins to pat the side of Steve’s head. It sounds more like a slap, but Steve’s eyes close and he sighs contently.

“Most dads suck,” Jonathan says plainly. “I’m sorry yours wasn’t an exception.”

Athena claps in front of Steve’s face. Steve claps back absentmindedly. “Thanks, man. So I’m technically an older sibling, but I’ve never done any of the work that comes with it. Now you know.”

“Now I know,” Jonathan echoes. “Let’s, uh, get the rest of our grocery shopping down together?” The last word stumbles and trips past his mouth, but Steve doesn’t notice.

He just smiles, a quiet and intimate little smile, and grabs the handles of his cart.

It takes ten minutes to get through the rest of the grocery store, and that’s probably because all of their talking. Lot of it is about Athena. Jonathan makes faces at her, makes her giggle and clap and poke his eye, which Steve apologizes for. Jonathan doesn’t mind.

He asks questions about Athena. Her age (eight and a half months), how they chose her name (after the goddess, like he figured). Then asks about Nancy and Steve, specifics he hasn’t gotten before. 

Steve’s twenty-six, just a year older than Jonathan. He’s lived in Hawkins all of his life. He and Nancy met in high school, dated, broke up a few times in the nine years they’ve been together. Steve’s mom loves Nancy. Nancy’s dad is “bland as flour” so he didn’t care either way (”at least until Nancy got pregnant, which, I’ll save you the details of World War Wheeler”), but Nancy’s mom hated him. Steve thinks she still does. But she adores her granddaughter, and he says that’s all that matters.

Nancy’s twenty-five. Same age as Jonathan. She’s also lived in Hawkins all of her life. She’d been a brainiac in school. Could’ve gone anywhere, but chose a university an hour and a half away so she could stay home. 

“I never asked,” Steve said as they perused the snack section. “I wanted her to go, spread her wings out and shit, kind of yelled at her about it, until she yelled back and said I didn’t get to decide things for her. We didn’t really talk about it again.”

She studied law in university and immediately became a cop after high school. She knew the old Sheriff well, worked closely with him, so when he retired to move to Florida, the position went to her. 

He also learns that Nancy and Steve aren’t actually married. Everyone acts like they are, and they refer to each other as spouses because girlfriend and boyfriend is too small of a word, parent of my child feels too impersonal. "We’re married in every way but legally,” Steve says while they’re in the freezer section, his eyes dropping to his ring.

In turn, Jonathan tells Steve about him. This mostly consists of Steve asking questions and Jonathan answering them. He tells him about how his dad wasn’t an exception, but doesn’t expand. Simply says that he’s really close with his mom and younger brother, that they’re all a team.

Steve asks why he wanted to move to Hawkins. Jonathan only says his mom’s boyfriend is Murray’s old friend, which is how he knew about the job offer. He doesn’t say that he needed something new, needed human connection, needed to _feel _in a way he never really has. They’ve said a lot in this grocery store, but Jonathan finds that he can’t admit that here.

By the time they reach the checkout line and Jonathan’s helping Steve put his items on the conveyor belt, Steve’s talking about his relationship with Nancy.

“We’re good, but she’s just so busy with work, and we have Athena, and it feels like we haven’t just been us for awhile, you know? I wouldn’t change anything about Athena, but. I miss some things.”

It’s only natural for Jonathan to say, “I can watch her.”

Steve asks a million times if Jonathan’s sure, to which Jonathan says _of course _a million times. Steve pulls Jonathan in for a hug, right there in the cramped space as the bored cashier waits for Steve to pay. Even Athena curls her arm around Jonathan’s head, shortly tugging at his ear.

For a second, Jonathan freezes. Steve’s warm and strong. His hair tickles Jonathan’s forehead, softer than he would’ve ever guessed. Athena babbles into his shoulder.

The second passes. Jonathan wraps his arms around them. Hugs them. Lets himself be hugged back.

.

.

.

The following day, Jonathan’s phone chimes with a text while he’s watching a German time-travelling show that Will recommended. 

**Unknown: **You don’t have to do this.

**Jonathan: **Hi, sorry, who’s this?

**Unknown: **Nancy

**Jonathan: **How’d you get my number?

**Jonathan: **and hey!

**Nancy: **I’m the Sheriff remember?

**Nancy: **I’m absolutely kidding. That would be a gross violation of privacy and abuse of power. Got it from Steve.

**Jonathan: **An ethical cop with morals? Never thought I’d see the day.

**Nancy: **I’d call you an asshole, but like

**Nancy: **Yeah. 

**Nancy: **That’s more than fair.

**Nancy: **Anyway, you don’t have to babysit for us. Steve said you already agreed to Friday night, but it’s really not necessary.

**Jonathan: **Three things.

**Nancy: **Oh my god why can’t you just say you won’t do it

**Jonathan: **Okay, now it’s four.

**Jonathan: **1: I’m doing it.

**Jonathan: **2: You and Steve deserve a night out

**Jonathan: **3: I’m the one who asked Steve in the first place

**Jonathan: **4: Hate to break it to you, but your daughter is so much cooler than you guys. 

**Nancy: **Why are you like this

**Nancy**: And you’re not wrong, but “cool”? Why do you sound like my dad trying to compliment me?

**Nancy: **I’ll ask you one last time. Are you sure?

**Jonathan: **Absolutely.

Nancy sends him a photo. It’s of Nancy, Steve, and Athena. They’re curled up in bed. Athena is fast asleep on Nancy’s stomach. Steve holds the camera, grins so widely that it takes up his entire face. Nancy meanwhile scrunches her face up and gives the camera a thumbs-up.

Attached to the image is the text:

**Nancy: **The Harrington-Wheelers thank you.

And something about it — the text, the picture, _Harrington-Wheelers _— that stirs something in his chest. He doesn’t respond. He turns his phone off, does two laps around the cabin, then searches like he’s done all week for any of Alexei’s research. He searches with music playing at full-volume.

It mostly just numbs his thoughts. The lyrics pass by, and he doesn’t think about it, until EDEN’s voice sings, softly:

_And I just want you to feel loved. Before it disappears. ‘Cause we are more than not._

“So never fear to feel,” Jonathan says, completing the lyrics. The song ends. Another one starts. He sits there, in front of his now-empty closet, books and shirts and sweaters strewn on the floor, and thinks about feelings for a long time.

.

.

.

Thursday night, one day before he’s babysitting Athena, he goes to Hawk’s Cafe. Thankfully Kali’s there.

She grins at the sight of him. “Hey. It’s been a minute.”

He hops onto one of the stools at the counter. “Definitely. I went to the cafe last weekend, and you weren’t there. Thought you were the only waitress?”

“I’m the only _competent_ waitress. Unfortunately for the customers, but thank god for me, I get some days to myself. Sorry that you missed me though.”

“Who said I missed you?”

She rolls her eyes and thrusts a menu into his hands. “Order so I don’t have to hear anymore of your lies.”

He’s flipping through the menu when a freckled blonde runs up to the counter.

“Can I get my usual?” She asks breathlessly.

Kali’s eyes shine. “Don’t know what it is.”

“I’m calling bull. You know everything about me.”

“Oh, so I know how arrogant you are?”

“I think everyone does at this point.” She grins. “Hey, I know everything about you too. Know what your tramp-stamp says, know your favourite Grey’s Anatomy character —”

“Everyone likes Cristina,” Kali huffs.

“And that I’m your best friend.”

“And everyone knows that.”

Jonathan’s trying not to listen. He bounces his legs up and down, pretends to read the menu, turns his face completely away.

“Fine,” Kali relents. “A medium strawberry shake and a caramel muffin coming up.”

“You’re the best.”

“You’re alright.”

“You _loooooove _me.”

“Sometimes. Most times. Oh my god, your face is too much. Stop. I’m going to melt. Robin!”

It’s another five minutes for the order to come through. The blonde and Kali talk easily, laughter bubbling in the air frequently.

“Gotta go, K,” Robin says. “Dinner with the rents. I’ll text you later, yeah?”

“Yeah. Tell ‘em I said hey. Bye, Robs.”

Jonathan finally lifts his head. He watches Kali watch _Rob _leave, her face dazed, lips slightly parted, eyes saying everything that Kali isn’t.

Kali snaps back into reality once the bell chimes with Rob’s departure. She schools her face into a neutral expression. “What?”

“Is that your, uh, girlfriend?” Jonathan smiles.

Kali bites her lip. She removes the pencil from behind her ear and fiddles with it. “No. My best friend, Robin. She, me, Nancy, Steve, we’re all friends.”

“Is it,” Jonathan starts to say, before stopping. “Sorry. Not my place.”

“She doesn’t feel the same way,” Kali says blankly.

“She’s told you that?”

“She doesn’t have to. She’s not — not like me.”

Jonathan’s face falls. “I’m sorry.”

Kali forcefully shrugs, flicking her gaze up to the ceiling. “No one’s fault. Don’t give me any pity, okay? Unrequited love’s a bitch, but it’s just that. A bitch. I’m not going to die.”

“Still sucks. But you’ll find someone. We all do, eventually. Right?”

“Maybe not. I don’t know. It’s not — there’s more than one type of love in this world, right?” Kali’s face softens. She bends down, elbows against the counter, and sits her chin into her palms. “Maybe I’ve already found someone, but it’s meant to be a friendship, and he’s just, like, a photographer who’s perpetually exhausted, leaves great tips, and has his own unrequited thing going on.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jonathan’s voice shakes.

“Hey, it’s okay. The crushes will pass.”

“Crush_es?”_

Kali waves her hand. “Hey, you can like more than one person. It’s cool. Come on, I just said we’re, like, _friends, _and that’s the part you focus on?”

“Sorry. I feel very lucky to be your friend. I don’t have a lot of them,” Jonathan admits. He continues despite the heavy pounding in his chest. “Didn’t have any before coming here.”

Kali touches his wrist. Her touch is gentle. “Well, you’ve got some now.”

.

.

.

“Thank you so much!”

“Hey, it’s no problem.” Jonathan’s chest bursts with warmth as Nancy carefully passes Athena into his arms. Athena takes to him immediately, nosing along his shoulder. Sure, it’s not the first time she’s seen him, but it’s the first time he’s held her.

He absentmindedly rubs her back as Nancy rattles off a list of different things to keep in mind. Athena plays with his hair, occasionally yanking, and it’s difficult to focus and not fawn over her, but he manages.

“She’s a good kid and we trust you. You’ll be fine. You’ve done this before, right? With your brother?”

It occurs to Jonathan that Steve told Nancy about Will. It’s an innocent thing, certainly not a gesture with a deeper meaning, but Jonathan flushes anyway. “Yeah. I’m good with kids.”

Nancy beams. “Awesome. Athena already likes you, don’t you baby girl?” She cups Athena’s cheek and presses a kiss to her nose. “Love you.”

Athena makes grabby hands towards Nancy. 

Nancy laces their fingers. “Dunno what’s taking Daddy so long. Let’s assume he hasn’t injured himself.”

Jonathan chuckles. “You, uh. You look beautiful, Nancy.”

She looks up from Athena, her mouth hanging open. It _is _true. She’s already beautiful, but especially so tonight. Her hair is pinned up into a bun. Lips shining, painted pink. Face brighter than usual. She wears a flowing green dress that Jonathan now realizes is a jumpsuit.

She snaps back into focus. "Thank you,” she says as a twinge of red appears in her cheeks. “We decided to dress up for it.”

“Where are you guys going?”

“McDonalds.”

He laughs. “Please send pictures.”

She bumps her hip against his, and he tries very hard not to melt. “You too.”

Steve comes running into the cabin then, in a tux and breathless. “Here! I found him. Jonathan, meet Mr. Bear. Mr. Bear, this is the infamous Jonathan.”

“Infamous,” Jonathan repeats, smiling. “You guys named the bear quite creatively.” 

“My idea.” Steve grins and sets the bear on top of the bag with the rest of Athena’s things. “You two will have a good night. Athena’s gonna be real good, won’t you, love?”

Athena makes a high, loud noise. Jonathan thinks she’s crying for a second, until Steve makes the noise back at her. They go back and forth.

“It’s a thing,” Nancy says, amused. “They can do this for awhile.”

They go a few more times, until Steve laughs and presses a kiss to Athena’s forehead. Then, unexpectedly, he pats Jonathan’s back. The skin there tingles for a few seconds, even after Steve removes his hand. “Thank you again, man. We’ll talk after yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan says, burning up under their combined gazes. “Athena and I will have a great time. Right?” He makes a silly face at Athena.

Athena laughs and pinches his nose.

When he looks back at Nancy and Steve, their faces are doing something weird. Nancy’s eyes are bluer than he remembers. Steve’s smile looks more private and fond than he’s used to having aimed at him.

He blinks, and it’s over. Nancy tugs Steve’s hand. They both kiss Athena again and say goodbye. Jonathan and Athena watch them drive off and wave.

Overall, it’s a great night. 

They play with the toys that Nancy and Steve brought over. Athena cries a couple of times, like babies do, but he just bundles her in his arms, raises her slightly in the air, and sings quietly to her like he’d done with Will. His voice isn’t great, but it’s just the gentle sound that matters.

At some point, he plays Bowie from his phone. Athena seems to like it, because she keeps making high sounds and clapping. 

Jonathan lays out on the carpet, keeps his head tilted up so he can see her.

She crawls over to him, then onto his chest. He takes ahold of her just to keep her safe as she tries to and successfully sits up on his chest.

“You wanna know a secret?”

She bounces on his chest. Definite yes.

Jonathan’s eyes crinkle with a smile. “I like your parents. Both of them. A _lot. _More than I should. They’re good, and kind, and so full of life. You’re so lucky to have them as parents. I’m lucky, too. I’ve never known anyone like them. And it’s only been, what, a month, and it’s not like it’s love yet, but I already know that this isn’t something I’m going to get over. It’s very hard to go into something that you know won’t end well, that won’t even _end, _because no one can get over people like them. But I’m doing it. Because this, them, _you, _it’s all too good to walk away from. You know?”

“Hmpfh,” Athena says.

A laugh bubbles out of Jonathan’s throat. “Yeah. Thanks for keeping my secret. You really are the best.”

.

.

.

Half an hour later, he prepares Athena her milk. He sets her on the counter. He’d cleared it before doing so and keeps her at arm’s length. There isn’t anything unsafe about it.

Except for when she hits her fist against the wall.

“What the —” Jonathan touches her fist. It’s fine. Not bleeding, not scratched, not bruised in the slightest. She doesn’t look hurt, shaking her hand free from his grasp. He looks at the wall. Raps his fist against the part she hit.

Huh. It wobbles. He does it again, then to a part higher up the wall. _That’s _harder, real wood, doesn’t budge the same way.

“What did you find, Athena?” Jonathan traces his fingers against the wall. It looks tiled, each square piece of wood with bumps around the edges. 

His heart pounds with a sudden thought. “No way.”

With one hand around Athena, he uses the other to pry at the square she’d hit. It comes off. He reaches inside blindly, shoves his entire arm in, and feels the thick spine of a book.

He scrambles to get it out. It takes a few seconds and when he pulls it out, it lands with a thud on the counter. Dust covers the front. It’s leather-bounded and red, a six-fingered handprint on the front with the number two in black. He knows who the book belongs to, but opens it in search of a name anyway.

There isn’t a name. But on the front page, he finds a drawing in black ink of a pair of moon-shaped glasses. Underneath, in a tiny scrawl, reads: 

_M, I knew you’d be interested in this someday. None of these discoveries mean a thing if I don’t have you by my side. I’ve always wanted to do great things, but only with you. Only ever with you. - A_

Jonathan flips through the rest of the book, finds pages filled with notes and diagrams of various monsters in town, all in Alexei’s black and messy scrawl. “Athena, you did it. You did it!”

Athena giggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY, THERE WAS GOING TO BE MORE SUPERNATURAL STUFF, BUT I HAD TO DO THE GROCERY STORE STUFF AND THE KALI AND JONATHAN SCENE AND MURRAY NEEDED TO HAVE FEELINGS AND THE DATE-NIGHT STUFF FOR THAT ENDING, SO -
> 
> i hope you liked the gnomes! more will come in the next chapter. also, if you were confused by the gnomes, it was a reference to the show, where (spoiler alert!) in the first episode, they think they're dealing with a vampire if i'm not mistaken, and it's just three gnomes stacked up on each other. please watch gravity falls.
> 
> thank you for reading. please let me know what you think! much love. <3


	3. Chapter 3

“It found Alexei’s book?”

“She’s not an it,” Jonathan snaps. He holds Athena closer to his chest and angles her away from Murray. “Athena’s a person with wants, dreams, and —”

Murray rolls his eyes. “Oh my god, shut up. Fine. So she found it?”

Jonathan sighs exasperatedly. He bounces Athena gently and rattles her toy, Mr. Bear, in front of her with his other hand. She reaches out with a gasp and grabs it. “She did. She hit her hand on the wall, and I was confused because she was fine, didn’t cry, didn’t even make a sound. So I touched the part she hit, and boom. It’s a secret cupboard or something. You can take it off. So I did, reached in, found the book. Imagine what else he could’ve hidden!”

Murray trails his index finger down the book’s cover. “That son of a bitch.”

Jonathan covers Athena’s ears. She gives him a tiny kic from the baby carrier over his chest. “Sorry, Athena. Murray, you can’t swear in front of her.”

“Sorry, Harrington-Wheeler child.”

“Her name is Athena!”

“Why are you babysitting anyway?” Murray doesn’t tear his gaze away from the book, clutching it close to his chest. 

“I’m friends with Nancy and Steve. I offered.”

“Are they paying you?”

“Did you not hear the part about us being friends, do you understand how —”

“Okay, shut up, this conversation is boring me.”

Jonathan pokes Athena’s cheek. She blinks. “He’s a good example of how not to act.”

Murray throws his head back and laughs. “I don’t even care! I’m too happy.”

“Hey, uh. There’s something else that you should see?” Jonathan gestures his head to the book. “Turn to the front page.” He looks away immediately afterwards, training his eyes onto Athena.

Athena yawns. A drop of spit flies onto his arm.

“Tired? Yeah, I know,” he coos. He gently strokes the top of her head. “You wanna sleep? We can do that. Just give me one sec.” He swallows, waits another few seconds, then looks back at Murray.

A tear rolls down Murray’s cheek. He leans against Jonathan’s kitchen counter. His thumb trails down the sketch of the drawn pair of moon-shaped glasses. His smile wobbles, but it’s there, and soon expands, takes up his entire face, as more tears drip down his face. 

“He knew,” Jonathan says softly. “You see it, right?”

Murray’s breath hitches. He closes the book and holds it tightly. “Can’t see anything, actually, too much water in my eyes.”

“You’re so full of shit. Oh. Sorry, Athena.” But a quick glance down at her shows that she’s fast asleep. Her tiny fist rests on his chest. Mr. Bear lays face-down on the floor. 

His heart stutters. He presses a soft kiss against her hairline, voice turning into a whisper. “She’s asleep. Gotta be quiet.”

“‘Course,” Murray whispers. “Look, I should probably go. I’ll leave this with you, we’ll go over it tomorrow. I’ll text you. You good?”

“Hell yeah I’m good. This is huge. So if I’m feeling this good, then what about you?”

Murray stretches his arms above his head. “On top of the world, my friend.”

He walks Murray to the front door. As he pulls it open, he finds Nancy and Steve on the other side. Nancy’s fist is raised midair.

“Why is your boss at your house?” Nancy narrows her eyes at Murray.

“Why is the Sheriff at your house?” Murray shoots back. 

Steve wedges himself in between them and steps into the cabin. “Let’s play nice. For Jonathan’s sake!”

“Agreed,” Nancy says. “But. Why. Is. He. Here? This about your personal investigation into this town?”

“Nah,” Jonathan answers, his heart beating wildly. “That’s come up dry so far. I had a water pipe burst in here. Got all the tools, but have no idea how to use ’em. He fixed it.”

“And I even did it for free,” Murray says. “That’s how far my kindness goes.”

“Considering Jonathan’s doing two jobs for you for the pay-check of one, I think you owe him that much.” Nancy sighs. Her hair’s been let down since the beginning of the night, lipstick smudged, green dress flowing behind her with the wind of the night. She finally steps inside and closes the door behind her. “Sorry. I don’t mean to get all defensive on you, Jonathan. You’re entitled to your company, even if it’s that.”

“That’s funny,” Murray says. Jonathan’s already cringing. Even Steve winces as he extends his hand to squeeze Nancy’s shoulder. “I said the same thing to Jonathan when he told me who he was babysitting for.”

“Okay,” Steve cuts in. “Let’s all relax.”

“I’m relaxed. Nancy and I have fun, don’t we? C’mon, I know she’s the best Sheriff this town’s had in years, just, intelligent, and good at her job. I look forward to our banter.”

Nancy smiles coyly. “Glad to hear that. I guess you’re not a totally incompetent journalist.”

“I’m touched.”

“It’s a thing they do,” Steve explains to Jonathan.

Jonathan gets a better look at Steve. His tux is crinkled, hair unkempt and all over the place, a faint touch of pink lipstick on his cheek. “He’s always hounding her cases, she always has to tell him, hey, you can’t go harassing people for stories. Very Tom and Jerry.”

“I’m Jerry,” Nancy and Murray say.

“What does that make you, then?”

“Tired, mostly,” Steve says.

“Sorry.” Nancy lays her hand flat against Steve’s chest. 

Steve’s shoulders sag at the contact. He wraps his arm around her back. “Yeah, yeah.” 

Jonathan stands a little straighter, his face suddenly hot. It’s a good thing that Nancy and Steve aren’t looking at him, or they’d see whatever he’s feeling, seeds of something greater, of potentially the very thing he came here for, that have been planted since he met them.

It’s good that they aren’t looking, but someone else is.

Murray clears his throat. “I’ll go. You young-ins probably have, uh. Things to. Uh. Do. And stuff.” He meets Jonathan’s gaze and waggles his eyebrows.

Jonathan wants to die. “Yup! Okay! Bye!”

“Bye-bye!” He leaves the cabin without another word.

Steve and Nancy don’t bat an eye. Murray’s always like this anyway.

They go further into the cabin, retrieve Athena’s things, as Jonathan listens to stories from their date. It kind of aches to carefully extract a sleeping Athena from himself and back into Nancy’s hands. He’s such a goner for the kid already. Maybe it’s those eyes. Seems like he’s a sucker for blue eyes.

Nancy touches his arm. “Hey. Thanks a lot for watching her.”

Jonathan berates himself for the way her brief touch shoots tingles up and down his arm. “My pleasure,” he says, and it’s the absolute truth.

Steve adjusts the duffel of Athena’s things and slings it over his back. “Nance and I were thinking we should do dinner sometime. Our place. We’ll make you something real nice, kinda like a thank you for this, but kinda not.”

Jonathan wrinkles his eyebrows. “Kinda not?”

“Friends can hangout right?” Nancy smiles sleepily. She brushes her lips against Athena’s forehead as Steve readjusts Athena’s sock.

A knot eases in Jonathan’s chest. “Yeah. Of course.”

.

.

.

“We’re not looking for Bigfoot.”

“We’re looking for Bigfoot!” For emphasis, Murray shines his flashlight into Jonathan’s face. Why he’s using his flashlight in the middle of the day is a good question, but Jonathan’s too irritated to bother asking.

He adjusts his camera around his neck. Ted refuses for him and the rest of the gnomes to be photographed. They’ve spoken a few times, the gnomes ambushing Jonathan on his walk home with random updates. (They were quite ecstatic to hear about the discovery of Alexei’s book.) They seem very invested in Alexei’s case, wanting to help now that they know that Jonathan and Murray have good intentions. They just don’t want to be photographed.

He wants to photograph something. He’s taken some pictures of the town. Hawk’s Cafe, his cabin, some on his walk home. None of people, or monsters, yet. Murray’s also itching for something. He’s shown Jonathan pictures of his mystery board, lacking any pictures except for Alexei’s missing persons’ poster and some title cards with words like WHERE, WHY, and HOW in red Sharpie. He wants to add onto it. Jonathan’s taken a picture of Alexei’s book and keeps forgetting to develop it, but other than that, they’ve got nothing.

Jonathan’s already read the book three times. Some pages are empty, with information Alexei was probably hoping to collect eventually. It’s an encyclopedia of creatures in town with their descriptions, rough sketches, weaknesses, strengths. Jonathan found the gnomes and fairies, but other beings, too. Vampires, werewolves, a monster made of candy, another made of jello, and —

“Bigfoot isn’t what we’re here for,” Jonathan reminds Murray. “Just because Alexei survived it, doesn’t mean we will.”

“We can’t get to Alexei until we find the rest of the books. And who knows! Maybe Bigfoot knows what happened to him.”

Jonathan’s eyes narrow. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

“C’mon. Less talking, more walking.”

Red and orange leaves crunch underneath their feet as they continue walking. It’s still warm outside, just the barest signs of fall present. He wonders if they’ll continue their nightly strolls/searches when winter comes. How equipped would they be to fight zombies, let’s say, bundled in at least three layers, a puffy jacket, and thick boots? God. He hopes not.

Would the supernatural activity persist in the cold weather? He’s got so many questions that pop up day by day as he becomes more accustomed to this town. How long has this town been like this? How is there _not _a higher death count? How come none of its residents are the ones online, claiming that Hawkins is haunted and cursed? And how much do they know? 

Jonathan’s been here for almost five weeks. In that time he’s come across gnomes, fairies, and a hidden book of research from a paranormal investigator/scientist that went missing over a decade ago.

Hawkins’ residents, meanwhile, have decades on him.

So is it an unspoken sort of thing? Or its residents just that oblivious? What about the cops? How much do they know? And what about Nan —

“You’re thinking too loudly.” Murray pushes a branch out of his face with another step forward. He shines the flashlight in Jonathan’s face, brief enough that Jonathan can only sputter and scowl. “What’s up?”

“With every passing minute I spend in this town I have more and more questions.” Jonathan grips the base of his flashlight tighter. “Right now, I’ve got about a million.”

“Hit me with one. Maybe I can help.”

He considers for a moment what he wants to know most, what Murray’s most likely to know. “Alright. How did Alexei’s disappearance affect the town? What did the cops think? Did anyone know what he was doing?” 

“Hm,” Murray says. He steps over a twig. “It didn’t, the cops didn’t have much evidence to suggest foul play so no one really thinks anything bad happened to him, and it was known that he was a genius scientist, but not what he came to Hawkins for.”

Jonathan takes a moment to process it. He nearly bumps into a protruding branch, belatedly ducking, only to hit another branch right afterwards. Murray has the decency to hide his laugh, but the gesture doesn’t mean much when he doesn’t hide it _well._ “What do they think happened to him?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Murray says loftily. “Eccentric scientist, could’ve run away, on the pursuit of another mystery.”

“How do you know that’s not the case?” Jonathan blurts out. “Sorry, that’s stupid —”

“It’s not. And I just know. He would’ve never left like that.”

“I have another question.”

“Shoot.”

“You said you don’t know what the cops think exactly. I find it hard to believe that you haven’t demanded they do a better job, roped them into helping you. Or did you think that was too dangerous? Or they just wouldn’t be helpful?”

Murray readjusts his backpack with a slight grunt. “Dangerous, unhelpful. Exactly. But also, no one in town knows that I knew him.”

“_What?”_

“He and I, we met at during undergrad in San Francisco. He’d come to the country for school. I was the only one who knew Russian, so —”

“You know _Russian!?”_

“I can prove it.”

“Well, it’s not like I’d know, since I don’t speak — okay, sorry, continue.”

“Anyway, we just. Clicked. Did grad school in Ohio. When that was well and done, we moved near this area, but not in Hawkins. Nearest city, only, what, half an hour away? I got this big-shot job at a newspaper, he got this huge research grant, and — imagine my absolute _shock _when he tells me he wants to use it all on this small town that you can’t even find on a map. He wanted us to move there, and I wasn’t here for it. It seemed nonsensical, but it also seemed dangerous, you know? I had a bad feeling about it. I knew him, knew how deep he could get into things, and it just wasn’t a risk worth taking.

“So obviously, we fought, he moved anyway, and we kept in touch. I thought, okay, he’ll talk to me if shit hits the fan, and whatever, it’s not going to end terribly. It _can’t. _Fast-forward, nine months later, and he starts losing sleep, acting all erratic, buried in his calculations and research that I can barely get through to him. I told him how scared I was, that he needed to _stop, _and he got mad, and we didn’t talk for a few weeks. I got fed up with it, finally got time to drive out and see him myself, but it was too late. He was gone.”

Jonathan reaches out to squeeze Murray’s shoulder without even thinking about it. He tries to think of something to say. But it wouldn’t be anything helpful, would only fill the deafening and uncomfortable silence. 

Murray waits another beat to clear his throat. “Any more questions?” 

“Were you the one who reported his disappearance to the authorities?”

“Yup.”

“Is his case ongoing?”

“Honestly, his case never was.”

“Does Nancy know that you knew him?”

“No.”

“Will you tell her?”

“No.”

“Why? Why haven’t you already?”

“The only thing holding me back is that she could tell the rest of her force, the rest of the world. She’s good, she’s fucking brilliant. I know that, but I can’t risk it.”

“But you could risk me?”

“I know James Hopper. Talk to him two times a year ever since he moved precincts, but I trust him, so when he says that I can trust someone, I can trust them.”

“He barely knows me,” Jonathan protests weakly.

“_You _barely know him. Your family’s absolutely crazy about each other, so of course Joyce and your brother have talked on and on about you to him, and of course he’s _asked.” _

A sudden gust of wind chills him down to his core. His teeth chatter as he wraps his arms around himself, his camera shifting so that it dangles over his elbows. “One more question.”

“Yeah?”

“Can we call it a night and look for Bigfoot when it’s not cold out and not after an emotionally-heavy conversation?”

“I give you my life story, and you get confronted with one fact, and that’s the same thing to you?”

_“Yes.”_

Murray stops in his tracks. He chuckles, shines his flashlight up to illuminate both of their faces. “Sounds about right. Let’s head back, then.”

They turn around and see it at the same time.

Murray shrieks. He stumbles backwards, nearly falling over. “Get that thing away from me!”

“They’re not a _thing!” _Jonathan sighs and bends to get a better look. “Hey, buddy. You lost?”

“It’s not going to answer you,” Murray spits out.

“They’re not an it! And I’m not the one horrified by the sight of a _dog.” _Jonathan tentatively extends his hand out to the dog. By the looks of it, a Labrador, maybe six months old. “It’s okay. We’re just here to help.”

The dog leans into his touch. 

Jonathan pets him, overcome with relief when the dog doesn’t bark or try biting him or something else. “No collar, huh? Murray, do you recognize the dog? Has anyone reported one missing?”

“I’m not the Sheriff, am I, but hm, I can’t seem to remember who is —”

“Ignore him,” Jonathan says. He starts petting the dog with both hands. The dog’s fur is soft and slightly damp. “It’s very easy.”

“This could be a demon,” Murray says. “A hellhound. A _monster_.”

The dog shoves his paw into his mouth.

“Oh, yeah, terrifying.” Jonathan glances over at his shoulder.

“I am _not _driving that thing back to the cabin.”

“He wouldn’t be at your house!”

“He’d be in my car!”

“We can’t leave him here!”

“He could _kill _us. Or you, in the middle of the night.”

“Then you can say you told me so over my grave.”

“You little —” Murray scowls. “Fine. _Fine.”_

Jonathan smiles down at the dog. He reminds him of Chester, his family’s first dog, who died during Jonathan’s first year at university. “We’ll get you home real son, bud. Promise.”

.

.

.

“Whose dog is that?”

Jonathan staples the other corner of the poster onto Hawk’s Cafe’s bulletin board. “If I knew, would I be putting these posters up?”

Kali purses her lips. “Forgive me. Some of the customer’s stupidity must be rubbing off on me. They aren’t all bad, but the ones that are? Terrible. Groundbreaking levels of moronity.”

“Rate my idiocy.” Jonathan passes Kali’s stapler back to her. He hops back onto his seat in front of the counter.

She thrums her pencil alongside the cash register. “You’re not stupid-stupid. You’re kind of oblivious. But not in a harmful way. You know?”

“No.” 

She rolls her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitch upwards into a hint of a smile. “How’d you even find the little guy anyway?”

“Uhh ...” Jonathan scratches the back of his neck. “I was taking a walk. The other night.”

“The other _night?”_

“I said day.”

“You said night.”

“I said day.”

“You said —”

Jonathan winces. “Technically, you don’t have proof.”

Kali thrusts a menu into his lap. She shakes her head, ponytail swaying. “Order, you strange, strange child.”

“We’re the same age,” he murmurs as he flips it open, even though he already knows what he wants.

“Really? ‘Cause that argument sounded like a five year-old came up with it.”

“It’s kinda foolproof though, right? You had no comeback for it.”

She looks at him, then at the menu, like she’s contemplating grabbing it from him just to hit him with it. “You’re absolutely the worst customer I’ve ever had.”

“You’re definitely the worst waitress I’ve had,” he says, smiling.

She smiles back. “Nancy and Steve love dogs. I’m sure they’d love to meet yours.”

“He’s not my dog,” he corrects. “And do you mean that, or are you just —” He gestures vaguely, thinking of the last time they’d talked about Nancy and Steve.

“I mean it, obviously. Steve had one throughout high school, and when she died in our junior year, it was —” Kali whistles. “Sad. Bring him by their place sometime.”

“Only after I bring him by yours. Or the Cafe,” he hastily adds, his leg bouncing. “Are animals allowed in here?”

“No, but there’s a park five minutes away. You can take your ‘nightly’ stroll there or, be a normal person, and take them in _daylight _and I can join ya.”

“Be a normal person,” he repeats. “Who wants that?”

Kali pretends to gag. 

“Okay, then you can’t meet the dog.”

“Hey, asshole, don’t do that, I really — stop _laughing _at me! I’m not providing you service anymore.”

“When do you ever provide me service in favour of rating my stupidity and making fun of me?” He manages through wheezes of laughter, leaning away from the counter instinctively.

“You _asked _me to rate your stupidity! And it was a very accurate answer.” But then she’s laughing, and he nearly falls off his seat when she snorts, and it takes them a long, long time to stop.

.

.

.

It’s a few days later that he has dinner with Nancy and Steve. He’d wrestled with it, going back and forth when Nancy texted him to confirm their plans. He’d come to the conclusion that even if he’s just digging his hole of Unrequited Feelings even deeper, he’s still building something with them. It’s still love. Just different from the kind that he wants with them is all. 

He spends an extra few minutes with his appearance. He wasn’t about to wear a suit or anything, but he didn’t want to wear anything fading and old with holes in it, like most of his clothes. He settles on a soft, mustard-coloured sweater and a pair of black pants resigned for work. He combs his hair for a few minutes, and wears a faint cologne Will got him for his twenty-second birthday.

He reaches their house a little after seven. It’s a small and cozy place at the end of their street. Their mail-box reads HARRINGTON-WHEELER with a tiny handprint that must belong to Athena. They even have a Welcome! mat by the front door. All that’s missing is a white-picket fence. 

He knocks on the front door.

“COMING!” shouts Steve from behind the door, followed by wailing.

A few seconds later, the door swings open.

There Steve is, cradling a sobbing Athena with one hand, the other still gripping the doorknob. 

He’s also shirtless.

“Um,” Jonathan says.

Steve’s face lifts into his usual, charming smile, but it’s strained with exhaustion. “Hey!”

“I didn’t know I’d be getting introduced to someone new today.” He taps his fingers along the edge of the container in his hands, tries not to bounce too much on the balls of his feet.

Steve’s eyebrows furrow. He rocks Athena back and forth. “Hm?”

“Oh, you know. Your bare chest.”

Steve grinds his jaw. “You know what’s not helpful to a stressed out father with a stressed out baby? A joke!”

“Oh, I’m sor —”

“She has been crying for twenty minutes and I can’t even shower because Nancy’s not home, she went to the grocery store to pick up napkins, because Athena spit-up on all of ours! Why do we have one tiny stack of napkins? I don’t know! I regret so much! I need more napkins, and I need my daughter to stop crying, before I cry, because I can’t get my daughter to stop crying, and because of goddamn napkins!”

Jonathan doubts that Steve will verbally invite him inside, so he doesn’t wait. He steps inside, quietly shuts the door behind him. Guides Steve down to the nearest piece of furniture, a love-seat a few feet away. Awkwardly pats his arm. Sits next to him.

“Nancy’s getting more napkins,” Jonathan says. “She’ll be back soon.”

“I miss her.”

“Me too.”

“I’m so tired.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with my daughter.”

“Nothing’s wrong with her.” Jonathan looks down at Athena, who’s still shrieking. Poor thing. Her face is red, cheeks blotchy and wet. Her eyes well with tears. Her tiny feet kick the air. “She’s a baby. Babies have a hard time existing. It isn’t your fault. You’re doing your best. You’re helping her. I promise.”

“Lemme try something?” Steve’s voice is so tender. Of course Jonathan says yes.

Steve gently passes Athena into Jonathan’s grasp. All at once, her shrieks stop. She still cries, but it’s quiet, like she’s tired herself out. Her nose digs into Jonathan’s chest. Eyes flutter shut.

“You’re perfect,” Steve says.

“So are you. Don’t read into this. You’re a great father.”

“She likes you,” Steve continues, like he hadn’t heard Jonathan. He readjusts himself, drapes an arm over Jonathan’s lap so his fingers curve around Athena’s small head. “Wanna know something?”

“Of course,” Jonathan says, a little too quickly, a little too easily. Any nervousness inside of him drains with Athena shifts and nestles her head against his chest. He secures his hold on her and nods for Steve to continue.

“She’s not the only one,” Steve says. Then continues, shakily: “You’re a good guy, Byers.”

“I’d like you more if you put a shirt on,” Jonathan jokes, because how else can he respond to that?

Steve laughs. The sound is muffled against Jonathan’s shoulder-blade. “Shut up. Tell me you like me.”

“I did.”

“Tell me I’m your friend.”

“You are.” 

Steve’s hum breaks on a yawn. “Tell me something from, like. Your heart.”

His breathing evens out, body sinking into the sofa. His eyelids flutter shut. Steve’s tone was teasing, soft with sleepiness, but Jonathan can be honest. 

It takes him several long moments to collect his thoughts and translate big feelings into a few words. But it’s pretty simple. “I think I’m falling for you and your wife. And I think you’re a pretty great guy too. One of the best I’ve met.”

He opens his eyes, and —

of course. Steve is fast asleep, quietly snoring.

With two thirds of the Harrington-Wheeler family sleeping on him and his heart lodged in his throat, he waits for the final family member to return.

.

.

.

It doesn’t take long.

Jonathan hears the jingle of the key from the other side. Seconds later, Nancy steps in, out of breath, half a dozen newly-bought packets of napkins clutched in her hand. 

Her triumphant smile falters when she sees Jonathan, curled underneath her husband and her daughter. Then it transforms, softening. She shuts the door behind her, kicks her shoes off. “They fell asleep on you?”

“Athena did it first,” Jonathan says. “Your husband is, uh. Shirtless. Got a lot of body heat.”

“That he does.”

It takes Jonathan a second, half-asleep himself, to realize that Nancy’s still in her Sheriff uniform. His eyes crinkle with a smile. 

Before he even opens his mouth, she rolls her eyes and wags the napkins at him. “Not a single word. I’m going to change out of this as soon as we get you out of there.”

“I don’t wanna wake ‘em up.” Honestly, he likes having their weight against him. He’s engulfed in warmth, feels needed, feels like he’s protecting them from something. He hasn’t felt like that in a long time and hasn’t ever felt like that from someone other than his family ever. It’s just nice. 

“No, we won’t, we won’t. Here. Let me take Athena.” Nancy walks towards him, so close that her knees brush against his. She bends and scoops Athena up into her arms. Slow, careful. “Hey, baby.” Her lips press gently against Athena’s forehead. “Must’ve been easy to fall asleep in Jonathan’s arms, hmm?”

Jonathan’s face flushes. He tries to sink further into the couch, as if it can hide his face from Nancy, but then Steve makes a low noise and clings tighter to Jonathan’s arm. 

A high sound escapes Jonathan’s throat. Steve’s just so close, his head against Jonathan’s, chin on his shoulder, arm coiled around Jonathan’s. Nancy watching them doesn’t help either. It actually makes everything so much worse. 

He’s clingy in his sleep. Don’t think I can get you out of there. We can wake him up, but I have a feeling you’ll object.”

“He was an exhausted mess when I got here,” Jonathan admits. “Sorry. That’s not nice.”

“No, it’s true. It’s a lot right now. And we’re both the kind of people who don’t want to hurt the other with how badly we’re struggling, so he hides it, I hide it, and then —” Her voice breaks. 

“Nancy,” Jonathan starts, but he doesn’t know what to say. 

“We’re happy,” she says. It’s not a desperate, panicked defence. Her eyes rest on Steve. Jonathan is certain if he had his camera, hell even his brick of a phone’s shitty camera quality would do, then the picture he’d take would show it too. All the love in her eyes, the stars glimmering within that both exist because of and belong to Steve. 

“My family isn’t really open. He and his mom don’t talk about his dad, ever, or his half-siblings. My dad didn’t talk to me for all of my pregnancy. He held Athena when she was born, gave a congratulations. He didn’t cry or tell me he loved me or anything. It’s really our asshole fathers’ faults that we’re like this, that it’s creeped in and is fucking up our relationship and how I parent —”

“Hey,” Jonathan interrupts. “You’re a good parent. Shitty fathers can take a lot, but they can’t take this from now, or our stubbornness to be better. And I know you, kind of. I know that you’re stubborn.”

She laughs wetly, holds Athena closer to her chest. 

“She’s lucky to have you. You’re doing your best.”

Nancy looks down at her sleeping daughter. “Isn’t that not always enough? Lots of parents just did what they thought was best for their kids and fucked them up supremely.”

“Nancy.” He wants to get up, wants to hug her, even just pat her shoulder, but he can’t. “Athena loves you. You love her. As long as you’re committed to growing with her, for her, then you’re good. And you are. You’re great.”

Her eyes close. She sniffs. Takes a few seconds to ground herself. “See, you’ve got it too.” 

“Got what?”

“Got that trick where I spill my guts to you in under five minutes of our conversation.”

His eyes crinkle with a smile. “Seriously, though. Are you okay?”

Her eyes flutter open. A million different emotions flit across her face, vulnerability lingering long enough that he catches it. “Nothing is easy right now, but I've never liked easy much. I’ve got my family, my daughter, my partner, my friends, and you.” She pauses with a small, almost shy smile. “I’m all good.”

Jonathan doesn’t think about how she didn’t lump him in with his friends. Just revels in the glow in his chest at her words. "It’s most definitely not my place, but you could talk to Steve.”

“Yeah,” she says slowly, her voice heavy with something he can’t translate, something he’s not used to. “I should.”

.

.

.

Shortly after, Jonathan offers to take Athena to her crib so Nancy can shower and change.

“Great,” Nancy says. She plops a kiss against Steve’s forehead, then Athena’s, then Jonathan’s in quick succession. When she lowers back from her tiptoes, her eyes are wide, mouth hung open. “I’m gonna —”

“Yeah, I’ll just —” They turn away, only to walk together, down the narrow hallway.

Nancy practically dashes down the hallway into the last room where he figures is the washroom. She hadn’t pointed out where Athena’s room was in a hurry, but there aren’t many to guess from. His first guess is correct.

Yellow greets him everywhere he turns. On the wall, with splatters of different colours that Jonathan can easily imagine Steve and a very pregnant Nancy creating with a probably unplanned paint-fight, and with the sun painted above Athena’s crib. A shelf of various toys and pictures of Steve and a pregnant Nancy, then of a newborn Athena, and more of Athena with her parents.

He gets distracted by them. It’s completely his fault that Athena wakes up and starts screaming.

“Oh my god,” he sputters. “I am so sorry!”

Her face reddens. She gets louder.

He can’t help but tear up. How do parents do this everyday? “What’s wrong? Hey, what’s wrong? Mom’ll be here soon, I promise, and Dad’s just sleeping, he’ll be back.” He rocks her back and forth continuously, makes soft, shushing sounds.

Her screaming quiets, face still red, dollops of tears in her eyes. Her chin trembles. 

“Hm. Okay. I think I know what’ll help. You ready?”

A tear rolls down her cheek.

“Okay, I’ll just get going.” He carefully readjusts his grip on her, holding her securely with one arm. He raises his other hand and waves.

She looks confused. Her head cocks to one side, mouth closes. She raises her hands above her head.

“Hey, you do not have to wave back. I just, y’know, see my good friend Athena here and I want her to know that I see her and that I’m excited she’s here.” He’s babbling nonsensically, hoping that his voice is soothing, that listening to it helps.

Which. She’s not crying anymore. It must be working.

“Hi Athena!” He waves again. “Nice to see you.”

She laughs and does that nose-wrinkle that Nancy also does when she laughs. She sticks her hand out, close enough that it almost hits his nose, and waves.

He laughs in turn, shoulders shaking with it. This time when she sticks her hand out it does hit him in the face and he doesn’t mind one bit. They’re both laughing like crazy, and then he starts making faces, and she starts making high-cackling sounds, and the laughter gets worse (better).

“Hey there.”

Jonathan’s neck cracks as he swiftly looks over his shoulder. He finds Steve smiling sleepily at them, leaned against the doorframe. 

“Hey.” Jonathan straightens. He tries to school his face into a neutral expression, but then Athena latches onto his pinkie finger, and he melts.

Steve chuckles. He steps into the room. Jonathan waits for Steve’s gesture to pass Athena to him, but it doesn’t come, just a kiss on her nose, and his hand cupping the back of her head. “Sorry for falling asleep on you.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll get out of your hair.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, you’re all dead-tired, Nancy too, she’s just changing. We can reschedule.”

Steve frowns. “No.”

“No?”

“You should. You should stay, man.”

Athena reaches out for Steve. Steve takes her hand into his, not breaking eye contact.

“I was really excited for tonight,” Jonathan admits. “Looked forward to it all week.”

A million different emotions flit across Steve’s face, fondness lingering long enough that Jonathan catches it. 

Athena squirms. Jonathan readjusts his grasp on her again. In doing so, his hand brushes against Steve’s hand. The air in the room shifts. Jonathan’s skin throbs at the contact. He can’t look at Steve, can only let himself follow the shape of Steve’s index finger as it curves against his slowly, tentatively.

Which is when he notices Nancy by the doorframe.

“Hey Nancy!” He says, too loudly, too high, too panicked. He and Steve immediately step back. Jonathan can only return her gaze for a second before it slips down to the floor, at a green stain on the carpet.

“Hey, Nance,” Steve says, even less put-together. He runs a hand through his hair.

“You’re not wearing a shirt,” Nancy says. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“I am absolutely complaining that you’re not wearing your Sheriff’s uniform.”

“Oh my god.” She walks right up to Steve, presses a kiss to his jaw. “That uniform is the most unsexy uniform possible. You know what’s very sexy?”

He guides her closer with his hands on the small of her back. “Hmm?”

“You with a shirt on.”

“What’s the opposite of dirty talk? Because that’s what that was.”

“Oh, you want dirty talk? Let’s talk about how you spilled orange juice, cleaned it up with your socks, then wore the socks!”

“They weren’t your socks? And is that really the dirtiest you can come up with? I am so gross, Nance. You’re like, scraping the bottle of the barrel, or whatever.”

“Please tell me what the bottle of the barrel is.” It’s a nearly deadpan delivery if it weren’t for how the corner of her lips twitch into the beginning of laughter.

Jonathan does not know what to do about anything generally, so he has no idea what to do now. Watching their banter feels kind of weird. Conveniently, Athena starts fussing, so he brings his face close to hers, curls his finger around hers, and coos at her.

“What’s up? You okay? Just tired?” He holds her up so that they’re nose-to-nose, then does something stupid to his face, stretches his mouth, raises his eyebrows, pretends to yawn. “Me too. I’m beat.”

Athena kicks her tiny, sock-covered feet.

“Or you’re not tired? Yeah, me neither.”

That prompts an infectious giggle out of her. It’s such a nice sound. His eyes crinkle with a grin, all the tension in his body from work and his investigation with Murray draining out of him.

It belatedly occurs to him that Nancy and Steve have finished their conversation. He finds them watching him and Athena with small, dazed smiles, Steve hugging Nancy from behind, his chin on her shoulder, her hand in his hair. 

Jonathan blushes. “What can I say, you’ve got a cool daughter.”

“Oh, yeah,” Nancy says.

“The coolest.” Steve scratches the back of his neck. “I’m gonna go put a shirt on.”

“Let’s put Athena down.”

“And get dinner started!”

“And wine!”

“You know,” Jonathan says, heart warm and full and so goddamn confused, “you’re both pretty weird.”

“Everything in this town is.” Steve snorts.

Nancy steps back from Steve’s embrace, only to lean forward to elbow him. “Everyone. That’s what you meant, right?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

They share a look. It doesn’t last more than a few seconds. 

But still. Jonathan suspects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! apologies for the delay. i tried doing Too Many Things with this chapter, and then it got too long, and then i was like, fuck i need to adjust the plotting (hence why the chapter count is now tbd), and fuck, i need to, like, actually write. 
> 
> anyways, here we are! we've got: more info on alexei, a DOG, kali being the loml, and our trio not knowing how to be discreet about literally anything. 
> 
> here's to hoping i can squeeze out the next chapter before the end of this year (decade). i hope the rest of your 2010s and 2019 treats you well. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Jonathan learns three things during dinner.

One: Nancy and Steve broke their dining table three nights ago. They somehow fell asleep atop the table together. After an accidental, four-hour long nap, they woke up at around two am on the floor. Steve’s first thought was, “Wow, our mattress is absolute shit.” Nancy’s was, “This town’s IKEA is absolute shit.” They both laughed with each other until their faces hurt, snuggled into each other’s embrace, and woke up thirty minutes later to Athena crying.

Two: Steve can cook. Legitimately. His white pasta is to die for. Jonathan decides that second greatest mystery of this town is why Steve isn’t working at the cafe or another restaurant in the area. But that’s shortly solved when Nancy explains that “Steve’s a great cook, but he’s also a safety hazard.” Steve continues with a story about his brief stint at the cafe in his summer after high school. They’d loved his soup specials, but did not love how many health code violations he broke. Steve refused to specify. He said that Jonathan would make fun of him. Jonathan didn’t bother pretending that Steve was wrong.

(Nancy chimed in that she would kill for his seafood soup, health code violations be damned, and earned a kiss on her cheek from a delighted Steve.)

Three: Jonathan made the right choice moving to Hawkins. 

It’s only been five weeks. Doesn’t mean he’ll stay here forever. He did make a promise to himself that he only had to give it a year in Hawkins and could go back to his family afterwards. It’s too early to know what he wants. He’s only now adjusted to not seeing his family everyday, living alone in Alexei’s cabin, the combination of stillness and strangeness from a small town, the routine, expectations, and work from Hawkins’ Post. He doesn’t think enough time would ever pass for him to adjust to shit like the gnomes and fairies, to Murray’s antics, to having ... this.

Saturday nights spent babysitting a precious eight-month old who loses her mind and laughs her head off when he crosses his eyes. 

Weekday evenings at Hawkins’ Cafe. Sitting at the front counter, getting about fifteen minutes of work for the newspaper done before he ditches it to hang out with the waitress. Making fun of shitty and rude customers. Test-tasting her new and random ideas for milkshakes and smoothies, competing to see who could stomach the most without spitting it out. Finding typos in the menu.

One random night each week with his boss. In the woods, searching for — “we won’t know what we’re looking for until we _find _it, you photographers are too impatient.” Or sprawled out in his living room, rereading and compiling notes on Alexei’s book of research, closer and closer to solving the puzzle. Listening to stories about Alexei, sharing his own about his family, and then talking together about the town, their co-workers, and whether the moon-landing was real or not.

And maybe Friday nights. Homemade dinner at the house of the Sheriff, a middle-school teacher/stay-at-home-dad, and their precious eight-month old. Squeezing in on an old couch that just barely fits them. Elbows jutting, knees bumping, hands brushing, until eventually, they’re on the floor, their legs tangled, heads bent together against the couch cushions, the distance between them non-existent as they laugh about stupid shit.

It’s all unbelievable. Weird. Exciting. Terrifying. 

And this tentative, new thing is all _his._

“Hey.” A finger taps his forehead. “You there?”

Jonathan slips out of his reverie. He blinks, returning to reality, which currently takes the form of Nancy and Steve’s living room. Building blocks, rattle toys, and two different carriers are scattered on the carpeted floor around them. Nancy sits in between them. Still, they’re all close together on the floor, just a few breaths apart. His foot is leaned against Nancy’s. Steve’s arm hangs around both Nancy and Jonathan’s shoulders. 

They’re staring at him, expressions a mix of amusement and slight concern.

“Jonathan?” Nancy continues, her forehead puckered. “You good?”

“Yeah.” Jonathan sits up, hyper-aware of how close they all are. But he doesn’t move away, doesn’t want to be anywhere but exactly where he is right now. “I’m good.”

Nancy nudges his foot with her own. “So?”

Jonathan tries to nudge her foot back, but she quickly extends her leg so her foot is out of reach. He settles on gently bumping his knee against hers. “So what?” 

"Your listening skills need some work,” Steve says, faux-serious.

“Okay, Mr. Harrington,” Jonathan deadpans. 

“The students actually call him Harry.” Nancy faces Jonathan, but reaches back to card her fingers through Steve’s hair.

Steve hums. With the way his eyes close and his lips spread into a pleased, dopey smile, it’s hard for Jonathan not to smile back at the sight.

“Is it because of his name, Harrington, or because of his hair?” Jonathan asks.

“Yes,” Nancy and Steve say.

Jonathan snorts. “Okay then, _Harry, _I’ll work on my listening skills.” 

“Great, pal, glad to hear that,” Steve says in what must be his Teacher/Harry voice: clear enunciation, warm enthusiasm, and sincerity. 

“_So _sexy,” Nancy says, curling a particularly curly strand of Steve’s hair around her index finger.

Jonathan can’t tell if Nancy is joking or not. He almost asks, but decides he wouldn’t be prepared for the response anyway.

“So,” he says with a chuckle. “What were you guys saying?”

“We’re having a bit of a game-night on Sunday afternoon at Hawk’s Cafe,” Nancy explains. “Us, Kali — yes, it’ll be during her shift — and our other friend, Robin. You should come. It’d be cool for you to meet Robin, hang out with all of us at the Cafe, you know? It’s a bit of a tradition that got lost when Athena came along. But I’ve got Sunday off, and Steve and I are as adjusted as new parents can be. Plus, she’s eight months now, so. Obviously she’ll kill it at Charades.”

Jonathan laughs, unable to help it or the flutters in his chest, the stars in his eyes. It’s such a simple thing they’re asking, but it’s not simple to him. This is a special get-together between four people who’ve grown up together and have been friends for _years. _They’ve only known him for about five weeks. 

But they want him to go. 

“I’m a beast at Pictionary,” Steve adds.

“Beast?” Nancy says incredulously. “You almost failed your sophomore art class.”

“Key-word: _almost. _And like you’re any better!”

“I am, actually.” Her nose scrunches as she half-smiles, a gesture both snarky and adorable. It makes Steve’s breath stutter, and a beat later, Jonathan realizes it’s done the same thing to him. “I am much better than you.” 

Steve opens his mouth. Nancy sinks her hand further into his hair, and whatever his retort was dies with the pleased, cat-like noise he makes.

Jonathan clears his throat. “I took art for all of high school and never failed.”

“Technically I didn’t fail either,” Steve says. “So, really, we’re on the same boat.”

“Really, we’re not, because I’ll annihilate you in Pictionary,” Jonathan says right as Nancy fondly says, “you’re _in _the same boat, except for how you’re not.” 

Jonathan wipes his suddenly clammy hands on his jeans. “If it’s, uh. Cool for me to come, of course.”

Nancy lightly swats his shoulder. “Didn’t I just invite you?”

“Yeah?”

“So isn’t it clear that we want you there?”

“The tone of your voice is making me feel like I can’t say no.”

“That’s because you can’t say no,” Nancy says. They look at each other for a second too long, her hand still on his shoulder. Her fingers are cold, but he melts into her touch anyway. He coughs, and she blinks, and Steve doesn’t look like anything weird is happening, even when Nancy jerks her hand back and Jonathan drags his hand down his face, gaze averted to the floor.

“You needa check your calendar or something? Make sure you’re not busy?” Steve swirls the remaining wine in his cup almost perfunctorily, eyebrows lifted. 

Jonathan nearly snorts. He’s never had much use for a calendar back home, never needed to check anything to make sure he was free, never had anyone ask. It’s almost funny, except that it’s not, and that — 

Well. He should actually probably start using a calendar now. He’s got all of his due dates for the newspaper on his laptop, but it might help to have that visual layout, and so he can add in his and Murray’s treks into the woods and their reviewal of Alexei’s book, and the family Skype call that they plan in advance since everyone’s so busy, and the deal that Hawk’s Cafe has every two weeks, a dollar for any drink and any size, which Kali told him about, right before saying how much she dreaded those shifts, and how he should swing by to suffer with her with a large strawberry smoothie by his side.

Fuck. Jonathan might actually have a life now.

“I don’t,” Jonathan replies. He unclenches his shoulder, fully leans against the sofa cushion. He lets himself look at them, _really _look at them. Nancy has her cheek nestled against Steve’s shoulder. Her hand remains in his hair, her right leg resting in between both of his. Steve’s tracing shapes over he knee absentmindedly. Their faces are both flushed, swept with red from light alcohol consumption, hair askew. 

They’re both so photogenic, he thinks. Conventionally pretty. Nancy’s blue eyes are so sharp, even with her a little more than tipsy, staring right into Jonathan, like she sees all of him, and it’s enough. Steve’s brown eyes are so goddamn earnest, a sincere invitation in them, and to what, who knows, but Jonathan would probably agree to anything Steve would ask of him.

They’re both so pretty, and they’re both so kind, and they’re both so delightfully genuine in a way that no one he’s ever met has been, and they’re his _friends. _And that’s so wonderful. It’s so fucking wonderful, his stupid crushes be damned. He’ll get over it. He will. He wants this friendship they’re offering, wants it so badly, and it’ll work so much better like this anyway.

Has he always been like this? Or is it just Hawkins? There’s no way he’s only been here for five weeks. It’s certainly not home, and he certainly doesn’t have love for anything or anyone yet, but it feels like much longer. Maybe time in small towns like this one work differently. 

Maybe everything — flashes of gnomes, his cabin, the twenty-year old photograph of Alexei smiling, his _friends — _in small towns work differently.

“But it doesn’t matter if I had plans. I’d cancel them in a heartbeat for this. Game-night sounds like a lot of fun, and I’m, uh. Really excited for it,” Jonathan says finally. And with cheeks tinted pink, he adds shyly, “And really happy that you asked.”

Nancy smiles sleepily. Steve claps Jonathan’s shoulder.

His heart feels weird. But it’s fine. Really.

.

.

.

It’s a little past midnight when his phone rings.

They’re playing a card game, Big 2, arguing over the value of suits. Nancy and Jonathan, unsurprisingly taking the _logical _and _reasonable _side, insist that you have to play by the order of suits. Steve argues otherwise, says they’re meaningless symbols.

Nancy tells Jonathan that he’s used that logic to argue against math, that numbers are meaningless for the same reason, and that they’ve had this argument for six years.

“Maybe you can show Steve the light, Jonathan,” Nancy says pointedly. A bit of hair falls from her bun and into the side of her face.

“Oh, but you’ve shown me the light already, Nance.” Steve leans across the coffee table, pushes her hair behind her ear. He bleeds quite obviously in the process, Jonathan looking away the second he catches sight of Steve’s triple kings.

Nancy pushes Steve’s hands back to hide his cards away from their view. “I’m the Sheriff. I see right through your lies.”

“I’m not _lying, _I’m romantic!”

Jonathan chuckles quietly. He organizes all of his doubles to the end of the stack of cards in his hands. “You’re also wrong. Suits count, Nancy’s right, and she’s been winning this six-year fight.”

Nancy whoops and high-fives Jonathan. Steve’s jaw drops. He makes an offended sound, but Jonathan’s phone interrupts him before he can defend himself.

Jonathan frowns. He scoots back from the coffee table, fumbling in his back-pocket for his phone.

Murray’s name on his screen confuses him even more.

“Everything okay?” Nancy asks.

“Yeah, probably —” Jonathan starts to say, but then, like, actually thinks about it. “Probably not.” He sets his cards face-down on the coffee table, rises to his feet, hops around the mess of legs and wine glasses on the floor.

“That’s not reassuring,” Steve says. 

“One sec.” Jonathan nearly trips over his feet as he hastily moves towards the hallway. Heart in his throat, he answers the call. “What’s wrong?”

“It saddens me that you assume the worst,” Murray says.

Jonathan rubs his temple with his free-hand. “I will be so mad at you if you’re calling me without there being an emergency.”

“Okay. Good! You won’t be mad at me then.” A pause. “Guess who’s at my house right now.”

“Alexei!?”

A pause. "My god.”

“Okay, yeah, that was stupid, I’m sorry, I’m tired, just tell me who’s —”

“Is that — holy shit! Are you at the _Sheriff’s _house right now?”

“What — how did you _know that?”_

“I heard laughter followed by, _Steve, that makes no sense.”_

Jonathan pokes his head into the doorway, catches Nancy laughing into Steve’s shoulder as Steve semi-flushed and half-heartedly tries to get her to tune back into his explanation of the meaningless of suits in card-games. She’s laughing really hard, but manages to wheeze out, “You’re so wrong, oh my god.”

“Yeah, I’m at the Sheriff’s house,” Jonathan confirms.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“I can just hear the smile in your voice. It’s nice,” Murray adds, voice strangely soft.

Jonathan scratches the back of his neck. He leans against the wall, flicks his gaze to a prom photo hanging on the wall across from him. “Um. So. Who’s at your house?”

“Ted. Gnome leader. ‘Member him?”

“_Ted!?” _

“Hello, Jonathan!” A low, but cheerful voice sounds over the line. “I am currently at Murray’s house right now.”

“Hi, Ted,” Jonathan says, voice strained. “What’s up?”

“There is a situation. Not quite the life or death type of emergency, but a highly inconvenient one — like a leaky faucet that ought to be fixed right away.”

“A highly inconvenient emergency?”

“Yes!”

“Can it wait until the morning?”

“If you want the house flooded, then yes.”

“I asked him the same thing,” Murray chimes in. “He just asked me if I thought him breaking into my house meant that it wasn’t urgent.”

“It’s not breaking in if you leave your window open,” Ted says.

“You threw a rock into it.”

“You should have a bulletproof window.”

“I _do! _So how the fuck did you throw that rock hard enough to shatter my goddamn —”

Jonathan pulls his phone away to groan into the back of his hand. “Okay,” he speaks back into the phone. “Be there in ten.”

When he walks back into the living room, Nancy and Steve look up at him.

“Everything alright?” Steve says slowly.

Jonathan freezes. His phone nearly falls out of his hand. “Yup. Course.” And then, in a very not suspicious and in a very normal way, adds, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Nancy’s eyes narrow, just barely. “You shouted _Ted _into the line. Sounded extremely alarmed. And then I got alarmed.”

“Do you, uh, know a Ted?” He asks slowly, heartbeat picking with a thrum of suspicion.

“Unfortunately and technically.” She smiles dryly. “Dad’s name is Ted.”

He remembers, vaguely, Steve talking about Nancy’s dad back in the grocery store. How her dad didn’t really care much about Nancy’s relationship with Steve, but definitely had strong, probably negative feelings about Nancy’s pregnancy. “Oh. I’m sorry?”

She laughs quietly, hugs one knee to her chest. “Me too.”

“That’s not your Ted, is it?” Steve says. 

“No. Mine is a guy from work.”

“Really?” Nancy says. Something about her tone has changed. It’s still lively, like she’s interested, but also clipped. He can’t put his finger on it. “Know a lot of guys that work for the paper. Not a big company. Don’t know a Ted.”

“It’s a nickname. His real name’s, uh —” _Think, think, just think of something plausible. Something that makes sense. _“Bryant.”

“Bryant?” Nancy repeats. “The Features Editor?”

“...Yes? It’s an inside-joke.”

Steve’s half-smile as he picks at a loose thread in his pants looks strained. “You’ve only been there though, for what, a few weeks?”

“I’ve been told I’m just that charismatic.”

It’s meant to be a joke, but they don’t laugh. He doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, why the stupid name has set off their interrogation. 

“I’m missing something,” Jonathan says. “What is it?

For a split-second, he sees it. Nancy’s lips part, eyes slightly widened. Steve sits straighter, opens his mouth like he’s going to give a genuine answer.

Before he can say anything, Nancy jumps in. “Sorry. It’s hard to turn Sheriff mode off. I’m particular with the details.” It takes a second for her smile to reach her eyes, but it does and turns teasing with it. “Plus, I still don’t know you that well. You could be a criminal.”

“I do jay-walk.” Relief hits him so hard he almost slumps to the floor with it. 

“You should be ashamed.” Steve shakes his head, a mock-reprimand. 

Jonathan laughs shakily. He bounces on the balls of his feet, all of his nervousness replaced with giddiness. “Sheriff. Harry. It won’t happen again.”

“Good. Sorry about that,” Nancy says.

Jonathan shrugs a shoulder. “No need. I do have to go, though. It’s an emergency. Not life or death, but mildly inconvenient.”

“A mildly inconvenient emergency?” They both say.

“Yeah.”

Steve grunts as he stands. “I’ll give you a lift.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll walk.”

“Dude. It’s almost one in the morning. Shut up.”

“_Hey.” _Nancy slouches, grabbing at Steve’s ankle. “You will not drive, not with the wine you’ve had.”

“Oh, fuck. Can you call someone?”

“Goddammit,” Jonathan says under his breath. “You guys are cool with Murray picking me up from here right?”

“Do not tell me this is a Murray-related emergency.” Her voice is muffled by Steve’s knee as she smushes her face against it.

“Okay. I won’t. Even though it is.”

A text to Murray, two containers of leftovers, and a cleanup of the living room later, the three sit on the front porch as they wait for Murray’s car to pull up.

He had insisted for them not to wait outside with him. But Nancy had looked at him like he was an idiot and pushed past him and out the front door, followed by Steve actually calling him an idiot.

It’s quiet. Peacefully still. The streets are empty, the house across from theirs the only one with the lights on. Stars fill up the sky, the moon crescent-shaped, so beautiful, so faraway, so much bigger than he could comprehend. It makes him feel reassuringly small and insignificant. 

It, along with two minutes of thinking it over, gives him the nerve to say: “Thank you for tonight. I had a nice time.” He can’t bring himself to look at them. The glimmer of the stars doesn’t quite stop his legs from bouncing or himself from fiddling with his fingers, but it’s somewhere to focus.

“Us too,” Nancy says quietly.

“We should do it again sometime,” Steve says.

“I’m seeing you for game night in two days, no?”

“Yeah, but —” Steve’s breath catches. “Something like dinner. Something like tonight again. Us three.”

“And Athena,” Jonathan says automatically.

It’s their prolonged silence that makes him look at them finally. Through the moonlight, he sees about a million different things on their faces. “What is it?” _Did I say the wrong thing?_

“Nothing,” Nancy says. “Us three and Athena. Sounds fun.”

“You free Fridays, man?” Steve asks. Jonathan can’t tell if he’s hearing hope in Steve’s voice or if that’s just his own.

Jonathan’s eyes crinkle with a smile. “Hopefully not anymore.”

Of course Murray pulls up to the driveway then, the blare of his honk continuous. "Jonathan! Let’s go!” He sticks his head out the window. Moonlight reflects off of his glasses. “Hey Sheriff!”

Nancy waves. Jonathan doesn’t expect her to actually speak to Murray, considering her thinly-veiled contempt for him and his oddities, so he’s bewildered when she raises her voice and shouts, “You better be driving safely tonight. You’re already being a _terrible _boss right now, so I swear to god, if you miss one stop sign, forget one turn signal, or, god help you —”

“I’ll get him back in one piece,” Murray drawls. “He’s my favourite employee.”

“I better be,” Jonathan mumbles, blushing at Nancy’s yelling for whatever reason. He stands, hands shoved deep in his pockets, turning to regard Nancy and Steve. "Goodnight. Sweet dreams, and all.” He’s never been more glad for the dark, grateful for how it hides his face and whatever terribly tender look must be on it right now.

“Sunday, I’m kicking your ass at Pictionary,” Steve promises.

Nancy points to Steve and exaggeratedly mouths _beast _at Jonathan.

Jonathan makes a _this guy _kinda expression. Good-naturedly rolls his eyes.

Another honk. “Jonathan! What part of mildly inconvenient emergency don’t you get?”

“What _is _there to get about that!?” He calls back with his hands cupped around his mouth. He forces himself to start moving, walking backwards towards the driveway. “See you Sunday. Say bye to Athena for me.”

“I’m waving on her behalf.” Steve waves with the hand not around and resting on Nancy’s waist. “Night, man.”

“Goodnight, Jonathan,” Nancy says softly.

“Goodnight, Harrington-Wheelers.” He ducks his head, takes another few steps backwards, eyes still on them even though their figures get blurry with darkness. He waves once then turns around and jogs the rest of the way to Murray’s car.

“That goodbye took ten years that I’m never getting back,” Murray says once Jonathan closes the passenger door behind him.

Jonathan puts his seatbelt on as Murray pulls out of the driveway. “Rich, coming from you.”

“Hi, Jonathan!”

Jonathan’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest. He whips his head around, tries to conceal his shock at Ted in the backseat. “You brought him with you?”

“Wasn’t leaving the fucker alone in my house, not when he _broke _in and tried to kill us that time.”

“We apologized for that and didn’t actually kill you!” Ted scowls.

“Oh, well in _that _case.”

Jonathan’s eyes slip shut. He rubs his forehead, right above his impending migraine. “Is this really happening to me.”

Of course, no one answers him. He’s not sure when he walked into some — what genre is this? Situational comedy? Supernatural? — stupid television show, but here he is.

.

.

.

“A shapeshifter,” Jonathan repeats.

“It transformed into Sam —”

“Who’s Sam?” Murray asks. 

“My _right-hand _man,” Ted says so indignantly that it looks like a vein in his forehead is going to pop. It makes Jonathan wonder if gnomes have veins, if they bleed, if they even have a heart, but he has a feeling that Ted will try to kill him again if he asks right now. "He pretended to _be _him!”

“What did he do?” Jonathan asks carefully.

“Pretended to —”

“Be Sam, yeah, yeah, we heard you the first two times. What did he do as Sam?” 

Jonathan nearly groans. He feels like journalists should have more tact and patience in getting information than Murray, especially since Ted’s small, round face has reddened and he’s glaring at Murray. It’s kind of funny. Jonathan wants to laugh, but again, he’s not in the mood to die tonight, so he doesn’t.

Ted wags a wooden finger at Murray. “Who _knows! _It was only the next day after we’d woken up —”

“You guys _sleep?” _Jonathan blurts out.

The look Ted sends him is venomous. 

Jonathan sinks back into Murray’s tattered and weird-smelling sofa, face white, eyes blown wide. “Please continue.”

“Like I was saying, it was only after we’d woken up did Sam come running in, say that he was _knocked out _and woke up tied underneath the Hawkin’s bridge! We haven’t seen the fake-Sam, don’t know where he went, but there is a _shapeshifter _on the _loose_.”

“I have many questions,” Murray says. “First. Maybe Sam has an evil twin.”

“_No! _Look. I know what that was. And I know that you can do something about it.”

“Not that I don’t believe you, because I do,” Jonathan says. “But you co-exist with lots of supernatural beings, right?”

“None of which you’ll tell us anything about,” Murray grumbles.

Jonathan happily foots Murray’s thigh and shoots him a pointed look. “Right, Ted?” 

Ted plops onto Murray’s floor. The clack of wood against wood makes Jonathan squirm. “Yes.”

“So what makes this shapeshifter so dangerous to you?”

“It could hurt the people of this town,” Ted says simply.

Jonathan’s brain lags. He looks at Murray, both of their foreheads wrinkling. “But ... you ...”

“You guys need to get over that already. We tried to kill you _once, _and we apologized. Would you like another apology?” 

“Quite honestly, yes,” Jonathan says.

“I apologize for our behaviour,” Ted says sincerely. His green eyes are shiny, from paint, maybe, which only poses more questions, but as he looks deep into Jonathan’s eyes, it’s easy to forget about them and remember this odd gnome leader’s genuine care for the people of Hawkins. “The other beings of this town, they keep to themselves. Only if you provoke them do you get hurt. Like us. But this shapeshifter ... I mean, it’s got a mind of its own, the power to do some real harm, it could be any person, any monster, and I ... I have a bad feeling. So promise you’ll keep an eye out.”

Jonathan’s stomach flips. His throat turns dry. He always generally has a sense of impending doom, like things are going to go wrong, but something about it is less paranoia, more certainty. 

He rolls his sleeves over his hands and covers the bottom half of his face, wanting so desperately, for some reason, to hide.

Even Murray’s look of contempt slips away. He’s steeled himself, face unreadable, but that just means that this is serious for him too. “Okay. We’ll keep an eye out. What else should we know? Did this thing know anything about Sam?”

“No.”

“And he looked exactly like him?”

“Yes.”

Murray nods. “Okay. We’ll work on it.”

.

.

.

It’s a little after three when Jonathan finally gets home. 

Murray had told him not to worry. Jonathan didn’t know how to articulate that he wasn’t as worried as he was so fucking sure that they were out of their league here, that they were just a bunch of amateur paranormal — see, he doesn’t even know what the fucking _term _is — who didn’t know what they were doing.

Which. To be fair, they were figuring it out. But with walks at night and another man’s research. They were still on their training wheels, help from gnomes and fairies and Alexei. A monster that _other _monsters were afraid of was their next target.

Holy shit, they were going to die.

Maybe it’s because of how tired he is. Maybe it’s because the threat seems so far away. Maybe it’s because this is the first time things have gone right for him. But he’s not worrying about it, so he won’t go ahead and start.

Right as Jonathan exits Murray’s car, Murray asks him how he’s doing. He thinks this might be the first time he’s responded with _I’m good _and has meant it. Murray doesn’t quite smile at that, but his eyes light up. Jonathan wishes him a good rest of his night.

He enters the cabin and nearly falls over when the dog leaps on him. 

“You should be asleep,” he pretends to chide. He bends and scratches the top of the dog’s head. He hasn’t named him yet. It’s been almost a week since he’s found him, and no one’s called about a missing dog. Is that too soon to name him?

“Let’s give it another week, and I’ll give you a name. I hope you like it better than your last one,” he says softly, his voice barely audible. 

The dog’s tail wags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! looks like we can squeeze another update after this before the new year.
> 
> fun fact that is absolutely irrelevant to this story: in the span of this update and the last, i got my first university acceptance! education is a scam, but i'm taking this W.
> 
> also i really feel like i've been slacking in the supernatural department of Hijinks so expect next chapter to just ???? be FLUFF and ooh shit this thing's tryna eat my toe !!!!!!! any guesses on what gravity falls beings i'll take?
> 
> hope your holidays/winter are going well. 💜
> 
> ETA: just got my second acceptance five minutes after posting this. the MAGIC of this fic.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked chapter five, aka the one where everyone had Feelings and it was actually Not That Bad. this wasn't supposed to be so emotionally heavy, but uh, this is kind of on brand for me. also, shout-out if any of you recognized the jello monster from a previous fic of mine!!
> 
> anyways next chapter is rlly fun and has So Much Byers-Hopper goodness!!! comments sustain me!!!! i hope ur holidays are going well!!!!!!!!!!!!!! happy kinda late christmas!!!!!!!!!! i love u!!!!!!

October goes by in flashes of boardgames, Nancy and Steve’s dining table every Friday night, the woods, photos, and Murray’s mystery-board. Work picks up, as do their now weekly “finding Alexei” sessions. Jonathan’s read Alexei’s journal about eleven times now. He could recite it by heart, but he still can’t find anything else than what he read through the first time. Still, he keeps trying. There are also more game-nights, which only take place in the afternoons, so the name is very misleading. They’re split between the cafe and Nancy and Steve’s living room, regular Friday night dinners. He regularly walking the dog in the park with Kali.

He’s tired, but not exhausted. He’s going out more often, doing more than ever before.

He doesn’t think he’s smiled this much, laughed this much, _spoken _this much, ever.

It’s weird.

He’s just, really, really happy.

.

.

.

Like how Friday nights and Sunday afternoons become routine, so do walks through the park with his dog and Kali. They usually happen at least once or twice a week after Kali and Jonathan’s shifts at their respective jobs. 

“You still haven’t named the little guy?” Kali tosses a frisbee into the air one Wednesday afternoon. It sends the dog chasing after the frisbee, following the whirr of red.

“Nope.” Jonathan shoves his hands into his pockets, already regretting not wearing gloves. “I’m scared someone else’ll come forward and say hey, that’s my dog. Then I’m even more scared his name will have been, like, Buddy or something.”

Kali wrinkles her nose. “You call the dog bud all the time.”

“Bud and buddy are different ... okay, no, they aren’t, and I see my illogical ... ness, now.” He smiles quietly at Kali’s loud and infectious laugh. Her scarf flaps in the air. 

The wind in this town is unbearable, but the dog doesn’t seem to mind. He runs back, proudly presenting the frisbee to Jonathan.

“Good boy.” Jonathan pets him, then tosses the frisbee once more. “I don’t want to get attached only to lose him.”

“That’s a terrible way to live,” Kali says. They continue walking, now past the playground. A father chases his toddler past the swing-set. Jonathan stumbles at the sight. The kid’s wrapped up in the same green jacket that Athena also owns. It makes his chest hurts. He hadn’t seen Athena last Friday, because she’d spent the night with Nancy’s parents. 

Kali gives him a gentle nudge forward. They continue walking down the spiralling sidewalk.

“That is not a metaphor for my life,” he says. “If so, then that’s terribly obvious.”

“Maybe you’re just that oblivious.”

“Can I point out the irony in that?”

“For the last time, Robin’s not into me, weirdo.” Kali crosses her arms. She scowls, but its effect is cancelled out by how ridiculously cute she looks, all bundled up in her white jacket and grey scarf, her large hoodie pulled over her forehead.

“I didn’t bring up Robin.” He sees the air of his laugh that bubbles out of him with Kali’s groan.

“Just name your dog,” she grunts. “Before _I _turn it back on you. Oh, like I’m blind to how you three are always —”

“Hey, bud, what was that? You miss us, want us to stop talking and come to you? We got it!” Jonathan’s not running from his problems, even if he’s currently running away from Kali and towards the dog. “Coming!”

“I’m not running, you — oh goddammit!” Kali breaks into a sprint. When she catches up to Jonathan and the dog, they both collapse onto the grass together. The dog licks their faces. Grass stains their jackets and pants. The wind bites their faces red. They meet each other’s eyes and laugh until their stomachs hurt.

.

.

.

In early-October, at seven am on a Saturday, there’s a knock on Jonathan’s door.

He nearly falls out of his chair. He’d spent the past few hours editing and redoing and editing the layout for a big piece that’s due the following Monday. He couldn’t sleep, and hated every television show he tried starting, so he got to work instead.

He leans back to push at the blinds on his window and hisses at the sunlight spilling in. It’s way too bright and he’s way too exhausted.

Another knock.

“Coming!” 

He groans, rubs his eyes, and stands all at once. It’s probably Murray, which — fine. Sure. He can’t just _ignore _his boss.

He half-jogs the distance to his door, only a few feet from his spot in the kitchen, and opens the door. “What do you — oh. Hey.”

Steve exhales, a cloud of air forming in front of him. He’s wearing a dark blue vest and sweatpants. “Hey, man.” He runs his hand through his hair. “What’s up?”

“The —”

“Oh my god, if you say the sky, I’m going to leave.”

“If I say the ceiling, since I’m technically inside, does that mean you’ll stay?” 

Steve laughs shakily. “Yeah, but I’ll kick your ass.”

“You wish.” He clutches the doorknob and looks for signs of Nancy and Athena, maybe his car. But it’s only Steve here. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Steve says, but his voice is too high, and he doesn’t look at Jonathan when he says it. “Needed some air.”

“I’m air?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Coming from the guy who tried to convince us that thick with two c’s is a valid way to spell the word? Mkay.”

“I’m a certified teacher.”

“That just makes it worse.”

“I didn’t come here to be attacked.”

“Why did you come here then?” Jonathan freezes. “Not that I don’t want you here, but ... is everything alright?”

“You have a dog, right? Maybe we can go for a walk.”

Jonathan wants to touch Steve’s shoulder, brush his hand against his, tell him it’ll be alright. But his throat is dry, his body is cold, and he’s never really done this before. “He’ll be excited to meet you,” he says instead. It’s not enough, but Steve visibly loosens and smiles softly in response.

Fifteen minutes and a shared cup of coffee later, they’re walking around the town, Steve berating Jonathan for not having named the dog.

“It’s been weeks since you’ve got the guy. Name him already.”

“It’s difficult! What if his owner comes up?”

“Tell his owner, sucks to be an asshole, this angel is _mine, _so. Bye!” Steve flicks his wrist back and waves.

Jonathan snorts out a laugh. “Say it just like that, with the wave?”

Steve’s cheeks turn red from the wind. He shoves his hands into his pockets and shifts his gaze to the dog, who’s ahead of them and happily leading them through the pathway. “Just like that. Seriously, dude, what’re you waiting for?”

“I don’t know.” Jonathan shrugs forcefully. His grip on the leash loosens, palms sweating despite the biting chill of October. “Okay. Honestly? I’m ... scared, of getting attached, then finding out I have to give him back. It feels easier like this. I know, okay, it’s stupid, but I can’t shake it. I’m scared.”

The dog barks and scurries a little faster. They pass Hawkins’ Lake, the blue sparkling against the morning light. Leaves crunch underneath their feet. 

“So be scared and name the dog anyway,” Steve says. “Look, man. I _know _fear. We’re best fucking friends! I’ve been terrified, all the goddamn time, every second of my life. Terrified that I’m a fraud that’s just lucked his way into this job, this marriage, this amazing wife and amazing daughter and amazing friends. God, if you’d only been there when Nancy told me she was pregnant. We were twenty-three, fresh outta school, and I just started teaching, and it was — it was a shit-show! I mean, what did I know about being a dad? Mine hasn’t even met Athena yet. And Nancy had so much more she wanted to, and we didn’t want to be our parents, young and trapped, but we wanted it. We wanted Athena. We were terrified, and I still am, all the time, but the thing is, you don’t have to not be scared to do something. You don’t wait for that fear to leave, because it’s there, all the goddamn time, like a little asshole, but you’ve gotta be the bigger asshole, you know?”

“The bigger asshole?” 

“Oh yeah. Be the bigger asshole, or else you’ll miss out on your daughter laughing all over your wife and you’ll have to keep calling your dog _the dog.”_

It’s ruthlessly chilly now. He should’ve definitely worn a bigger jacket. He’s shivering and cold all over, but his heart is warm. “Thank you. That was perfect. Th — thanks.”

Steve ducks his head. “Man, ‘s nothing.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“What’s up?”

“What’s wrong? I know you’re here because something’s up,” Jonathan adds before Steve can interrupt. “You can talk to me.”

Steve says it’s not a big deal about a million times. Jonathan gently pushes him, trying not to pry, but also insisting that Steve can say whatever he wants to, and Jonathan’ll listen. It’s only when they pass Hawk’s Cafe does Steve say something honest.

“I just — feel like we’re missing something. I’m in been love with Nancy ever since freshman year English. I was bitching before class about how fucking stupid Romeo and Juliet was, and she kinda snapped at me, said it wasn’t supposed to be a romance, and went on and on about the tragedy of it just being how the hate between their families killed them both, and a lot about choices and youth and she got all flustered when she realized everyone was listening. And then class started, and I got all flustered when I couldn’t stop staring at the back of her head. My dumb heart just knew that she was the one, you know?”

Kind of, Jonathan thinks, flashing back to first meeting Nancy and Athena in the grocery store. He doesn’t answer, though, just nods as they continue down their path. 

“And I was right. I’ve made so many mistakes, but she’s never been one. But ... god, I don’t know. We’re just off. We’re not in sync. Maybe it’s Athena, maybe it’s — I feel fuckin’ sick for saying this, but maybe we got into it too young. Maybe we were supposed to break up and fall back together, but we didn’t, so now we’re —” Steve sucks in a breath. His eyes are glassy. His pace slows. “We’re always tired. We never talk, not about anything real. She’s busy with work, and I love that about her, I do, but she’s always wanted so much that I feel like I can’t give her. She’s a genius, she is, but I’m not —”

“Hey, don’t say that —”

“It’s true.”

“You’re a teacher.”

“And she’s the Sheriff. Youngest one Hawkins has ever had. I ... I value the work that I do, of course, but I’m not anywhere near the level she’s at. Never have been. And she needs someone smarter, someone like you —”

“You’re insulting yourself. This issue isn’t about who you are, and you can’t — you can’t say that stuff about you because it’s not _true.”_

Steve’s face reddens. “Fine, let me — okay. It’s like, sometimes, we’re two puzzle pieces that don’t fit. Our life for the past year has been where’s our baby, you go change her, I’m going to sleep so watch her, I’m going to work, I’m going out, I’m doing this, I’m doing that, but never — I’m having a hard time with this. Things are hard right now. I miss you. I miss us.”

“So _tell her_,” Jonathan says empathically.

“I can’t just tell her!” Steve sputters, waving his hands wildly. “That’s, like. Embarrassing.”

“She’s your _wife.”_

“We don’t talk about these kind of things! How would I even say it? _Nance, I want to talk to you about how I’m feeling. _Like. What the fuck.”

Jonathan laughs and bumps his shoulder against Steve’s. He’s casual, because this can be fixed. Nancy and Steve are strained, not broken. Steve just needs to really listen to how stupid he’s being for them to both mend their relationship together. “You’re an idiot.”

Steve laughs back, a soft and quiet sound. “That’s funny.”

“What?”

“Nance says the same thing to me all the time.”

He allows for all of what Steve’s said to settle in his mind. He wants, so desperately, for them both to be happy. Steve’s a teacher who genuinely cares, a good husband, a good father, a good friend. He touches his hair way too often and communicates with his daughter through high-pitched noises and laughs with his entire body. Nancy’s a Sheriff committed to the right thing, a good wife, a good mother, a good friend. She drinks too much coffee and talks to her daughter like she’s all grown up and laughs utterly silently when she finds something really funny. And Jonathan spends too much time looking through and taking photos and rubs Athena’s back and likes all of them so very much. It’s scary how deeply he feels, how quickly he’s fallen. But above all else, it feels right.

Because if he really thinks about it, what he wants most isn’t them, but rather so many good things that their lives overflow with it.

“Can I offer you some advice?” Jonathan says quietly. They stop walking at the same time on the side of the empty road. The dog runs up to them and licks Jonathan’s leg. He absentmindedly pets him, eyes never leaving Steve’s.

“Please,” Steve says.

“You love her?”

“God, yes.”

“So you’ll talk to her. You make it work.”

“What if —”

“No what ifs. Maybe it is just one of those things that come with a baby, I don’t know, but you can’t watch it happen. Maybe you’ve never really talked about your relationship like this, so what? So you ... start. I don’t have to tell you how amazing Nancy Wheeler is, how lucky you are, and how lucky she is, too. Isn’t your love worth a hard conversation, and all that work that’ll come afterwards?”

“But tell me, okay, just fucking indulge me and my paranoia for one second. What if it doesn’t work out? What if — what if history repeats itself?”

“You’re not your dad,” Jonathan says.

“What if I’m _hers.”_

“Uh —”

“Ted Wheeler’s an indifferent asshole who’s never showed any interest in Nancy until she got pregnant, in which he complained and bitched and suddenly cared about his daughter’s future.”

“Easy,” Jonathan says. “You’re not him, because you care.”

Steve looks at him with such naked vulnerability that it feels like Jonathan’s staring into an endless sea of light. He blinks, and it’s not all gone, but certainly contained. “I’m just scared. I love her, and when I was younger, that seemed like enough, but maybe it’s not.”

“Be the bigger asshole, Steve,” Jonathan says softly. 

Steve cracks a smile. “You think you’re so clever, huh?”

“Just imparting some wisdom from a really smart teacher I know.” He smiles back, face flushing all over, and starts walking again. The dog happily darts forward and pulls Jonathan along.

“Name your dog, and I’ll talk to my wife. Deal?” 

“Deal.” Jonathan pauses. “When you said you felt like something was missing, did you mean, like, communication? So if you talk to her, that’ll go away, right?”

“Oh. That.” He swallows, runs his hand through his hair. A few seconds tick by with them walking in silence, their path empty and clear ahead. They’ve nearly circled their way back to the cabin. The dog paws up Jonathan’s leg and Jonathan smiles down at him, strokes his chin, and starts listing out of different names for the dog in their shared silence.

As Jonathan considers the name _Bowie, _Steve says, “It should go away when I talk to her.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Jonathan smiles back anyway, says an honest and relieved, “Good.” 

Steve’s smile reaches his eyes. It’s a small and intimate look that has Jonathan’s fingers itching for a picture. He snaps two in quick succession before Steve covers his face and laughs.

“Hey, what the fuck!” Steve reaches for Jonathan’s phone. They laugh some more and wrestle for Jonathan’s phone and take pictures of each other before returning to the cabin for another cup of coffee. 

.

.

.

The dog races to the front door, tiny paws scratching the door.

Jonathan chuckles as he puts his coat on. “Gimme one sec.” He grabs his keys, steps into his shoes, and strengthens his grip on the dog’s leash. It’s 7:00 AM. He has another hour to leave for work, so he might as well got a good walk in, enjoy the sunlight while it lasts before winter comes.

He opens the door.

The dog stays still.

“What’s wr — _what.” _Jonathan stares at the orange block of jello on his doorstep. It’s the size of a head. It’s not doing anything, and that somehow makes it worse.

Jonathan kicks the door shut. He spins around, finds his phone in the kitchen, and dials Murray’s number.

Two minutes of explanation later and Murray sighs. “You want me to come investigate jello?”

“It’s a lot of jello.”

“Is it doing anything?”

“No.”

“Have I done this to you? Am I the reason you’re completely overreacting?”

“You can say I told you say if you come over and prove me wrong. You can’t, however, if I die from _jello.”_

Murray groans. “I hate you. Be there in five.”

As promised, Murray knocks on his door five minutes later. “Jonathan, I’m here, what do — oh my god! What the _fuck!”_

Jonathan rushes to his front door, swinging it open. “Are you — you’re such an asshole!”

“And you’re an idiot!” Murray, one-hundred percent fine and alive and unscathed by the dessert on the floor, stands two feet away from him, unimpressed. “This is probably some prank.”

“I don’t know any kids in this town!”

“That’s probably why they pranked you! Kids are assholes. Now, I’ve gotta go shower, get ready for work, so if you don’t mind me.” Murray turns around, but he doesn’t step any further. “Oh fuck.”

Jonathan looks down. “You stepped in the jello.”

“Yes.”

“Step _out _of the jello.”

Murray grunts. “I’m. Trying.” His leg twitches, but his foot remains planted to the front porch. “This fucking town is fucking terrible!”

“Shut up and relax,” Jonathan says calmly. “Should I put it on fire?”

“That’s my _leg!”_

“You can live without _one _leg.” Jonathan scratches his chin. He kicks Murray’s ankle. It doesn’t budge. 

“I can, but I wouldn’t be happy about it! Oh — oh, fuck me.”

“What!?”

Murray braces both of his hands behind his head. “It’s moving up me.”

Jonathan’s stomach flips. He darts back, hands raised.

The block of jello just. Rolls up Murray’s leg, up his back, and perches itself on his shoulder.

Murray turns around slowly. He cranes his neck as far from the block as possible. “Kill it. I’m okay with fire.”

Jonathan swallows. “Flick it off!”

“No fucking way!”

“Flick it!”

“_No!”_

“_I’ll keep you safe, Jonathan,” _he mimics in Murray’s voice. He pulls the sleeve of his sweatshirt over his hand, reaches out, and swiftly pushes it off. Except that doesn’t work.

Instead, it splits into two and latches onto Jonathan’s bare hand. It’s moist and sticky and sends shivers down his spine.

“We could live like this, theoretically,” Murray says as Jonathan frantically waves his arm. “It’s not threatening our wellbeing or anything.”

Fate or destiny or whoever the fuck is doing this to them definitely hears Murray in that moment and is definitely to blame for the next five minutes.

The glob of jello expands, growing until it covers the entirety of Jonathan’s arm.

Jonathan waves harder. His arm cramps. His heart thumps wildly in his chest. This is so goddamned weird. Nothing is happening, but that feels more terrifying.

Murray shrieks. He starts whacking at the glob on his shoulder, which of course just spreads to his fingers, and then they’re both standing there, jello rapidly growing and growing on their bodies.

“If this is how I die,” Jonathan hisses, squirming when jello extends and squeezes around his chest. It somehow turns colder. Mixed with October’s biting wind, Jonathan’s half-convinced he could die of hypothermia before suffocation via jello.

Murray flaps his arms. “I’m not any less upset about this as you are, you know,” he growls. His head is suddenly bright orange, bald spots covered in jello. He whacks it, but of course his hand gets stuck. “What if we stay still? Maybe it’s a quicksand situation? We stop moving and then we’re saved?”

Both men freeze.

“Fuck me, I can feel it spreading to my ears.” Jonathan continues to squirm. Panic appears in white spots in his vision. “Okay. Let’s _think.”_

“I am so sorry if this is how you die,” Murray pants.

“Do _not _say that. I mean, we can’t die from a _food, _not when we could just —” 

Murray squawks. “No way!”

“Yes way! We have to try.”

“You could _die.”_

Jonathan shrugs as best as he can with jelly constricting his body from neck to toe. “I could die either way.” He brings his chin to his neck. Takes a big bite from the jello. Chews. Swallows.

They wait.

The jello stops growing. But it doesn’t go away.

“I got it! We have to eat it!”

“I don’t like jello,” Murray says. “Can you eat mine?”

Jonathan fixes Murray with a glare before he takes another bite. “Hope you didn’t have breakfast today.” He wonders, not for the first time since moving to Hawkins, when his life became such a big joke. But alas, he has too much jello to eat, and not enough time to question his life choices.

In what feels like an eternity later, both Jonathan and Murray lay on the front porch, stomachs full, skin cold and dotted with bits of jello.

“Do we have to go to work today,” Jonathan mumbles. The dog returns from inside the house and circles them before laying by Jonathan’s feet.

“I’ll call it in. Say we’re both sick or whatever.” Murray flops onto his back. “Eh. I’ll do it in a minute.”

“I _told _you something was up,” Jonathan says. He doesn’t need to look to know that Murray’s flipping him off.

.

.

.

Nancy: _I have a mildly inconvenient emergency._

Jonathan: _You okay? Where’s Steve?_

Nancy: _At a very uncomfortable lunch with his dad, step-mom, and half-siblings. I got a pass not to go because we’d have no good reason not to bring Athena._

Jonathan: _Congrats?  
_Jonathan: _His dad sounds like a dick._

Nancy: _Acts like one too.  
_Nancy: _Steve shouldn’t have to put up with this_

Jonathan: _Call him in an hour and say there’s an emergency  
_Jonathan: _Maybe whatever’s going on right now? Are you okay?_

Nancy: _Oh, yeah, that  
_Nancy: _My daughter’s asleep, and usually Steve and I would like  
_Nancy: _You know  
_Nancy: _Hang out _

Jonathan: _Oh my god  
_Jonathan: _I’m not hanging out with you_

Nancy: _I AM NOT PROPOSITIONING YOU_

Jonathan: _I know!!!!! I’m sorry!!!!! That was a BAD joke  
_Jonathan: _I APRPECIATE OUR FRIENDSHIP_

Nancy: _You are ridiculous  
_Nancy: _I appreciate it too, nerd  
_Nancy: _Come over_

  
  
  


“So where are Kali and Robin right now?”

“Hm?”

Jonathan lolls his head over to one side to look at Nancy. The carpet is soft underneath them as they splay out on it, which is usually how they end up on their Friday night dinners. “They’re busy, right? That’s why you texted me.”

“That’s not —” Nancy frowns. She rolls over until her body’s facing him. “Why do you assume that?”

“Was that really sad?”

“Kind of,” she whispers. Her blue eyes soften with concern. She raises one arm, and for one moment, it looks like she’s going to touch his hair or his arm, but she just tucks her hand underneath her head. 

“Or maybe it made sense. You’ve been friends with Robin and Kali for years.” 

“Yeah, but doesn’t it feel —” Her breath catches. She doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t need to.

“Like we’ve been friends for years?”

She turns her head back, looks at the ceiling. “Yeah.”

He follows her vision. They’re not looking at each other anymore, but that only means he fixates on how close they are, only a breath away. Any closer, and he’d hear her heartbeat. Any closer, and she’d hear his, fluttering and wild. “It does.”

He’d already known that they were friends. This isn’t a confirmation, but an affirmation, one that he holds close then stows away in his heart. 

“Don’t get me wrong. Robin and Kali are the best. There’s a special kind of peace you get with those kind of friendships where you can do and say the stupidest shit, and not be self-conscious about any of it. There’s no judgement there. Ever.”

She tells him stories, most from high school. Dodgeball in ninth grade P.E, watching One Tree Hill every week in Nancy’s basement, Kali and Robin waiting (with Steve on the speaker-phone since he’d been out of town with his mom) outside the washroom as Nancy took her pregnancy test. 

“I’ve always wanted a friendship like that,” he says without thinking. At the look on her face, he winces. “Another sad thing?”

“You don’t have to talk about it. But I have a question.”

“Yeah?

“Do you have those kind of friends now?” 

He looks at her from the corner of his eye, catches her small smile as she bites her lip. A smile spread across his mouth until he’s grinning. “Yeah. I do.”

They get up a few minutes afterwards. Nancy makes tea, pulling an extra mug for Jonathan despite him not asking, while he gazes at each and every picture tacked up on their fridge. 

“You guys are so sweet.” He trails his thumb down a picture of them at a Halloween party. It’s dated _2012\. _Nancy’s dressed Leia, Steve as Han.

She hops off the counter, takes two steps to the fridge, and smiles at the picture. “High school sweethearts and all.”

“And to think it all started with a misinterpretation of Romeo and Juliet.”

Nancy’s eyebrows rise. “He told you?”

“Told me he knew he fell in love with you in that very moment,” he says, watching her face light up slowly.

She tucks a strand of her behind her ear. “He’s an idiot,” she says fondly. 

“Yeah, he is,” he says with a note of tenderness that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. 

She leans against the kitchen counter, braces both hands behind her. “I know you spoke to him.”

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

She rolls her eyes, jabs a finger into his chest. (He forgets to breathe for a second after that.) “Don’t play dumb with me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Sheriff Wheeler,” he says, then internally berates himself, because Jesus, what a _stupid _thing to say. But Nancy just rolls her eyes again and calls him an idiot, which is what she says to Steve, so he’s fine. “I just did what a friend would do.”

“He told me that he wanted to talk about feelings and that he had many of them. It was perfect. He’s — well, you know,” she says tenderly, and he _does, _and it’s painful how much.

“Yeah, I do. He loves you.”

Her eyes are slightly narrowed. He can see the gears shifting in her mind, but she steps back and lowers her arms by her sides. She chews her lip and stares at him for a beat too long before blurting out, “You’re not a last choice.”

The weirdest thing isn’t (just) that she told him that, but that she sounds almost scared about it. Her voice shakes and she doesn’t look at him after that, literally turning around to tend to the kettle.

He watches her go, utterly perplexed. “Nancy ...”

“I don’t know why you think that, but you’re my friend, you’re all of our friends, so get used to not thinking that anymore,” she says fiercely, pouring hot water into one mug. “Understand?”

He wants to hold this moment in his hands, capture the light bursting inside of him at this brilliant woman who he’s lucky enough to know and who tells him this kind of affirmation with the same tone one would use for a threat. “I can’t say no, can I?”

“Unfortunately not, no.” 

They smile.

A sudden wailing starts from a few rooms away.

“Shit,” Nancy curses.

“Can I?” Jonathan asks. “I’ll just bring her here. She usually gets up from her nap at this time anyway.”

“You remember that?”

“Of course.”

Nancy squeezes his shoulder. “Yeah. Go get her.”

His heart grows about three sizes when Athena makes grabby hands towards him the second he enters her bedroom. She doesn’t stop crying, not when he gently takes her into his arms and murmurs, “Hey, bud.” He gets it, though, how she’ll need Nancy to feel alright again. 

Though, when he brings Athena into the kitchen, the instant sight of Nancy doesn’t immediately soothe everything. Nancy makes faces, says her name over and over again in different ways, even tries waving.

“Oh, I’ve got it.” Nancy clears her throat and makes a high sound.

Athena blinks. Her chin trembles, another tear rolling down her cheek, but then she repeats the same noise back. They go back and forth. After the fifth round, Athena looks around frantically, her forehead puckered.

“Aw, you miss your dad, huh?” Nancy rubs Athena’s back. “Me too.”

Jonathan sips his tea and averts his gaze. He doesn’t want to intrude on a family moment.

But then Athena makes direct eye contact with him and repeats the same, high-pitched sound.

Nancy laughs. “You miss Jonathan too? Yeah, I definitely get that.”

“I just. I just look like Steve.”

“Why are you insulting my infant’s vision,” she says, lifting Athena into the air. 

“You can’t _insult someone’s vision,” _Jonathan says.

“Sure you can. Steve says I do it all the time when I make fun of his Hawaiian shirts, which he claims he gets to wear since he’s a dad. I secretly think they’re cute, but his justifications are even cuter.”

Jonathan snorts. He takes another sip and stands next to Nancy, looking down at Athena. 

Athena notices him. She squeals and hits him in the face.

“That’s what you get, see,” Nancy says. “Should I be admonishing my daughter?”

“Nah, Ihad it coming. My apologies, Athena.” He does a small bow, his eyes crinkling with another stupid smile when Athena cackles at his gesture.

“Oh, she forgives you. Right?” Nancy kisses Athena’s forehead. “Oh. But will I forgive you?”

“What did she do?”

“She just pooped. And there’s nothing to forgive, because she’s a baby, but I have something in common with her diaper.”

“You’re both pooped?”

Nancy lightly hits his shoulder. “Don’t steal my punchline.”

“It’s not _that _funny.” He laughs at her attempt to hit him away, foiled by his quickly backing away and hitting the back of the fridge.

Nancy changes Athena back in Athena’s bedroom. Jonathan lingers by the doorframe, watching Nancy in a quiet awe. Half-way through, it occurs to him how strange his presence here is, but then Athena looks at him, and he instinctively makes a silly face at her. He continues making faces, she laughs uncontrollably, and Nancy bites her lip like she’s trying to contain a smile.

They end up back in the living room. Athena crawls around in front of them as they sit on the floor, heads resting against the couch cushions. He asks questions about when they think she’ll start talking and walking and eventually reading and writing. He already knows that Nancy’s read about a million parenting books, so he expects the long, detailed answers, and listens eagerly. 

Nancy talks a little bit about school. That throws him off completely. It’s weird, thinking about Athena as a person. Which. She _is, _and he knows that, but thinking about her with having a concrete personality and _speaking _and moving without needing someone to carry her. He gets a rush of excitement, but then wonders if he’ll even be in Hawkins for that. Maybe he’ll have moved back home before she starts school or before she can even remember him. It’s kind of a depressing thought. He just hopes he’s here long enough to catch her first steps and first words. 

“Are you ever scared?” He doesn’t know why he’s whispering. It’s not like Athena’s going to get, like, mad or anything about it.

“Always,” Nancy says. “She’s a person that I could be messing up. She’s half me, which is weird, but she’s half-Steve, which is better than I could’ve ever imagined when I was younger.”

He thinks about a teen Nancy Wheeler, doodling NANCY HARRINGTON-WHEELER in her notebook by a list of baby names. “You thought about that?” 

She elbows him. “Don’t say it like that.”

He elbows her back and insists, “I’m serious!”

Nancy groans and covers her face. “Of course I did. Steve was my first everything. I’d think about us hyphenating, and get embarrassed, I’d think about what our child would look, and get embarrassed. I knew, kind of, that I wanted all of this, but I definitely didn’t want it so young. I mean, my mom was twenty-five when she had me. I was twenty-four when I had Athena. I love my mom, mostly, but I didn’t want her life.”

“Do you?”

It confuses her enough that she lowers her hands. “Do I what?”

“Do you have her life?”

Nancy looks forward at Athena waving at her own reflection in the table. She’s a foot away, so all it takes to lift her is bending over. “Athena wasn’t supposed to happen.” She sits Athena up in her lap, one hand on her side, the other on her cheek. Athena leans forward and presses her forehead against Nancy’s. “She wasn’t supposed to happen, and fate is bull, but this was destiny. I mean. She cries several times a week when she sees me, because I’ll be a few feet away and not holding her. She’ll cry because I’m here and she misses me. I’m lucky to be loved like that. With my mom, y’know, I’m here because that’s what was expected of her. But Athena’s just here because I’m in love with Steve Harrington. And we’re happy. I have a good life.”

Athena buries her face in Nancy’s neck.

“I’m really happy to hear that,” he says sincerely. “You deserve good things.”

She rests her head against his shoulder. Athena’s tiny hand clutches his shirt. “You too, Jonathan,” she says quietly. 

They all fall asleep like that. Steve wakes them up several hours later, the smell of dinner wafting into the living room. He shows them several pictures he’d taken of them. Jonathan can’t help but notice how they’re both cradling Athena and how their feet had tangled while they slept. He expects _something, _because it’s weird that they fell asleep together. But Nancy just smiles, almost shyly, and kisses Steve’s jaw. Steve kisses her, properly, and Jonathan half-jokingly, half-seriously covers Athena’s eyes.

They have an early dinner. Nancy and Jonathan listen to Steve vent about his disastrous and awkward lunch. It’s a good day.

.

.

.

“Okay,” Murray says unnecessarily. He puts his pen behind his ear and claps his hands, loudly enough that Jonathan flinches. “Walk me through what we know.”

Jonathan doesn’t need to look at Murray’s mystery-board, but he does it anyway, despite having looked over it a million and one times. He points to Alexei’s smiling face. “Went missing May 17th, 2007. No evidence of foul-play found here.” Rarely does Jonathan get uncomfortable about living in Alexei’s cabin, but when he remembers that Alexei was here shortly before disappearing easily does the trick. He pauses to shudder, then continues. “He has a journal of his findings marked three, suggesting that there are two other journals, but none of which have been located. _Yet. _Main theory is that he’s lost somewhere that isn’t Earth.”

“And?”

“That’s it.”

“Two months,” Murray says quietly. “That doesn’t feel like a lot for two months, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Jonathan admits. “Maybe — maybe we’re spending too much time trying to find other creatures. Maybe we need to devote our time and energy to finding the other two books. There has to be something or someone in this town who know something about it.”

Murray sighs. He plops onto Jonathan’s sofa, wringing what’s left of his hair with his head buried in his hands.“How?” It’s not the snappish response Jonathan’s getting accustomed to. It’s tired, soft, and unbearably hopeless.

Jonathan doesn’t know what to say. He wants to be smarter, bolder, braver, the person Murray was no doubt looking for with this position. But he’s just — him. He takes pictures. He wears a lot of old and fading clothing. He has stupid ideas that sometimes work, like pleading with gnomes, but mostly has _nothing._

Jonathan sits next to Murray. “You told me you felt it, right?”

“You have to understand that I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That you — that you _felt _Alexei. That’s how you knew he was alive, somewhere.”

Murray lifts his face out of his hands. He stares at Alexei’s picture on the mystery-board from a few feet away. Jonathan can see the past twelve years in that distance and in the lines of long years underneath Murray’s eyes in contrast to the lines of laughter underneath Alexei’s. He feels it, too. The hopelessness. The ache of all this time wasted, of a life and relationship ended too soon.

But he feels something else too. It’s less tangible, sure as hell less realistic. But it’s stronger, and if he lets go of it, then he has nothing else.

“I feel something similar,” Jonathan says. “Hope.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Murray says. “I get it, you’re in your mid-twenties, you’re full of _life _and _happiness —”_

“Have you ever wondered why I took this fucking job in the first place?” 

The bite in Murray drains instantly. For the first time in his life, probably, he doesn’t have a response.

And this is probably a stupid thing to do. Murray’s his boss. None of this is about Jonathan. There’s a man they need to bring home. But they haven’t made any progress, and maybe this is how they get that burst of optimism to get there.

“I took it because I had nothing to lose by moving here. I took it because I thought, maybe I can get that life everyone seems to have. I — my family’s the best part of me, always. But at some point, they were just ... all of me. And that wasn’t their fault but mine, because I didn’t know how to exist without them, and your offer just seemed like a way to try. Try having a life. And isn’t that — I mean, I’m twenty-five. Up until Hawkins, I’ve never had friends, never had plans with someone I don’t share DNA with, never felt even a fraction of what I feel now. It’s not even like I thought I’d never have it, because it didn’t even register that something like this could ever be mine, you know? The world’s always been this scary and mean thing, and it still is, but now it just feels like I hadn’t seen enough of it to know all of it.

“And I’m not trying to tell you that because I have, like, a few friends now, that means you need to suck it up and not lose faith. I’ll never understand how you feel. But I understand the bitterness and anger and absolute _rage _at this stupid rock we’re on. And I understand that sometimes, maybe, if you just — hold on, long enough, you’ll get pulled up. Does that metaphor make sense? I don’t know. I feel like a rambling idiot, but I need you to not let go.”

Murray doesn’t speak. He removes his glasses, holds them in his hands, and doesn’t stop looking at Alexei.

Jonathan leans back and sinks into the sofa. He feels drained out, zapped of energy. He wants — he wants a lot of things, honestly. He wants a cup of hot cocoa. He wants to call his mom. He wants to fall asleep next to his dog on his bed already. He wants to see how dinner’s going for Nancy and Steve at Nancy’s parents’ place, wants to hear Nancy’s impression of her dad and what embarrassing thing Steve did, as well as just see them after — messing up their hair, getting rid of whatever dress/dress-shirt they’d worn for the night, and sprawling out across their carpeted floor.

Mostly, he wants this odd, middle-aged man to feel less tired. He wants to bring back the owner of both this cabin and Murray’s stubborn old heart, the reason Jonathan’s here in the first place.

Alexei has changed Jonathan’s life. He wants, no, _needs, _to return the favour.

The sofa dips as Murray sits up. His shoulders unclench. He sweeps a hand over his bald spot. “I didn’t know any of that.”

“I didn’t expect you to.” Jonathan’s voice cracks.

“Do you know how I know Jim?”

He’s not sure where this is going, but Murray’s talking, and he doesn’t sound empty like he had minutes before, so Jonathan happily accepts the offer. “No.”

Murray chuckles without any mirth. “Foster-brothers.”

“He wasn’t in,” Jonathan starts, but shuts up. He’s never acted like he’s known anything about James Hopper. Won’t bother starting now. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. He moved to Hawkins when he was seventeen after an uncle finally came forward and took him in. Uncle was still a kid himself, early twenties, so it wasn’t a case of a negligent family member. But before that, we spent five years in the same house. Foster-parents were fine. No, they were better. They were good. They just wanted to give kids a place to stay. It was like a goddamn zoo with all of us, but we were fed and kept safe and just ... kept. Everyone else was at least six years younger than us, but he and I were the same age. We didn’t really have anyone else. He’s the person I’ve known longest in my life. But we don’t really do mushy, you know? He told me ‘bout your mom, and I said, nice. The most emotional we’ve gotten is maybe when he adopted Jane few years back? Can’t be sure. He knows about Alexei’s disappearance, but not that I’ve been looking, not that you’re helping me. But he told me, a few days before you were set to leave, that it wouldn’t always feel like this. That things always change, one way or another, and if they’ve been bad for so long, then life owes it to ya to make it good again.”

Jonathan chuckles a little at Murray’s impersonation of Hopper: his deepened voice, the stroke of his chin, narrowing of his eyes.

Murray’s responding grin is soft around the edges. Almost fond. “I didn’t know what to say, but I’ve thought about it, over and over again. I think he’s right, but I also think — I think it’s not just life that owes it to me, but also myself, you know? And don’t, like, I’m not going to suddenly start writing self-help books and doing yoga —”

“You should, though, would be good for your back problems,” Jonathan says. “Sorry. Continue.”

“_Anyway. _Point is, I owe it to myself to not let go.” Murray suddenly laughs.

Jonathan smiles, albeit with a confused wrinkle in his forehead. “What?”

“You sound so much like James.”

It takes him a second to register that Murray means Hopper. “He seems like a decent guy.”

“Find out for yourself. Look, I get it, daddy issues can —”

Jonathan groans, lightly kneeing Murray in the side. “This is too much heart for one night. We’re not talking about my father.”

“Oh, so he’s the root of.” Murray gestures lazily at Jonathan. “It.”

Jonathan wants to throw something at him. “What?”

“Of your issues.”

He plucks the pen from behind Murray’s ear and hits his forehead with it. “I spend too much time with you.”

“Probably. But I’m serious! We all have issues, so don’t get all grumpy about it. I’m just saying. You don’t have to talk about it.”

“Good,” Jonathan snaps. He crosses his arms and sighs. “He wasn’t a good person.”

“Wasn’t?”

“Isn’t, I don’t — honestly, he could be dead, and we wouldn’t know. Sometimes, I wish —” He cuts himself off, forcing a breath in. He holds it for a moment, just to really feel it, then lets it out. He knows he’s allowed to say it, but honestly, it wouldn’t be true. What he’d want more than his dad’s deserved death is just. An apology. The love he was owed. But his dad dying an earlier death and them not finding about it is much more likely than him ever owning up to his shit and trying to make amends, which even then, Jonathan doesn’t know he’d ever forgive him. He’s a person capable of forgiveness, and he believes that people can change, but some things can’t. He can’t forget about having to shoot a bunny as a kid, can’t forget about the way he’d _yell _at Will and call him those awful names, can’t forget how he’d take all of his mom’s earnings and blow it away on alcohol that just made him into a worse person who bitched about not being able to afford their car insurance. He can’t forget it, not for the sake of his family and the kid he once was who just wanted his dad to like him.

“I get it.” Murray stands and stretches his arms above his head. “You drink?”

Jonathan eyes him warily and brings his knees to his chest. “No?”

“You got, I don’t know, hot chocolate or something?”

“Uh, yeah. Second cupboard to the left. I’ve got it.” Jonathan tries to stand, but Murray lightly pushes him back into the sofa.

“Sit the fuck down, _I’ve _got it.”

“Men in their late forties aren’t usually _childishly _annoying, and yet, here you are.” Jonathan watches Murray walk into the kitchen, only a few feet away and still partly visible from where he’s sitting.

“Why do you think I’m in my late-forties?” Murray calls out over his shoulder.

“Because I have eyes?”

When Murray comes back with two mugs and a longwinded explanation that Jonathan completely ignores about how early baldness is quite common, his heart pangs. Hot cocoa is something of a Byers’ tradition. Three marshmallows per family member and drunk with their pinkies out.

It’s been too long since he’s seen his family. When Murray goes into the washroom, Jonathan calls Will.

“Hey! It’s been awhile,” his brother greets, and the truth behind it makes his chest hurt.

“I want to come visit. Soon.” 

“Thanksgiving?”

“Too far away.” Only two weeks, but still.

“Finally,” Will exhales. “You know how many times mom and I had to stop each other from driving there?”

“Why didn’t you!”

“There’s something mom really needs us to do in Hawkins, apparently. She wouldn’t budge when I kept asking. I even gave her the puppy eyes.”

“She didn’t budge at that?” Jonathan whistles. “Wow. Either you’ve stopped being cute or she’s suddenly gone heartless.”

“I’m eighteen. I’m not _cute.”_

“Yeah, you’re adorable. And eighteen is nothing. You’re still a baby.”

“If I can vote, then I’m not a baby.”

“You can’t even legally drink.”

“That says more about our country’s stupid, backwards-ass laws than me.” Will pauses. “It’s not like _you _drink.”

Jonathan leans back and flicks his gaze to the ceiling. “But I could.”

“I could too, just not legally,” Will says, the teasing tone from just a few moments ago missing. “I have.”

“Oh?” Jonathan’s not sure what to say. Whether Will’s asking for his opinion or just wants to tell him. “And?”

“All this fuss over _that? _You could literally drink your own piss for the same taste, probably the same effects, and for no price. I really don’t get it.”

Jonathan laughs. “Me neither. But you know whatever you want to do is fine, right? It’s your choice. You don’t have to make the same one that I did.”

“I know,” Will says quietly. “I just wish we didn’t have to make this choice at all.”

“I know.” Jonathan sighs. “But you’ll make the right choice for yourself. I know it.”

“JONATHAN,” Murray calls out from the kitchen. “HOW MANY MARSHMALLOWS?”

“You don’t have to shout!”

“Hot cocoa?” Will asks, smile sounding in his voice.

“You know it.”

“If you don’t put three marshmallows, I’m hanging up.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Jonathan says with a small smile. He sits up, glances at the mystery-board. His eyes zero in on Alexei’s photo. 

He’s going to see Alexei’s smile in person one day. 

It’ll start with the rest of the journals. There are at least two of them out there in town.

And he might know where to start.


	6. Chapter 6

Before he can do any more sleuthing to find the rest of Alexei’s journals, he goes home.

It’s been long enough, the longest he’s gone without seeing Joyce and Will in his entire life. As soon as Murray left the cabin, he’d packed a duffel bag, texted Will, and shortly received a text that yes, obviously Jonathan could come that weekend, and that it had taken him long enough.

He leaves the following Friday, the first one in November. He doesn’t bring the dog, name to be decided, with him, figuring that it might be too much to spring on his family for his first trip back. He’d asked Kali to take care of him for the weekend. She’d enthusiastically accepted before telling him to have a nice time.

He leaves right after work. The drive feels much shorter than it was on his way into Hawkins a few months ago, but then again, this is much different. No nerves, no jitters, no unknown waiting for him. He’s going back to everything he’s ever known. He’s returning to his _family. _

And he can’t fucking wait.

He makes it to his small home-town by half past eleven. Every single one of his atoms buzz as he begins to recognize street names, the routes of walks they’d take during sunsets in the summer, the park he’d take Will to when their dad was especially being insufferable back home. He even smiles, however faintly, when he passes by his old high school. It makes zero sense, but after spending all this time in Hawkins, this definitely isn’t the weirdest thing he’s done.

Before he knows it, he's at his old house. The lights are turned on. Hopper’s truck sits in the driveway. Jonathan leans back into his seat. He closes his eyes and listens to his own breathing for a few moments before getting out of his car.

It’s strange, knocking at the house you grew up in and only moved out of a few months ago. He doesn’t have his key anymore. Right before he’d moved, Joyce asked if he was okay with them giving his key to Jane. He agreed, of course. Joyce and Hopper weren’t living together, but they were steps away from it — clothes at each other’s houses, shared weekends, and each other’s children given keys to their homes. 

Jane has a key to their place. Will has one to Hopper’s. Jonathan doesn’t. He wouldn’t have much use for it anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.

Jonathan’s just about to knock again when the front door swings open. He’s already grinning, arms spread open for a hug —

“Hey, kid. Good to see you.”

The following second in which Jonathan’s face falls, his arms fall to his sides, and he forces an awkward smile is the most awkward thing to happen to him. Which, considering his track record, means a lot.

They don’t hug. It’s not the type of relationship they have, not that they really have one, despite Joyce’s three-year relationship with Hopper. 

“Hey.” Jonathan hesitates on how to address Hopper. His mom calls him Jim. Will calls him Hop. He’ll have to decide, eventually, but for now, _hey _will suffice. “Good to be back.”

Hopper beckons for Jonathan to come inside. He follows. He doesn’t really get time to soak in being back in his old house before an excited shriek alerts him of his mother’s presence a split-second before she’s running into his arms. 

“I missed you _so _much,” she says into his shoulder.

His duffel bag falls to the floor, forgotten as they fling their arms around each other. He buries his head in her shoulder. Shuts his eyes. Clings to her. 

He doesn’t bother telling her that he missed her too. From how he’s said it everyday on their phone-calls and how he’s currently holding onto her, she already knows.

After awhile, she pulls back. She cups his face, smile bright and blinding. “Hey.”

“Hey, mom.” He wants to pull her into another hug, but Hopper’s still there, leaning against the door with a small smile. They shuffle into the kitchen. Over hot cocoa, Joyce informs him that they all thought he’d get in later than he did, so Will and Jane went out with their school friends. Hopper announces that he’ll call Jane so they can come home early, but Jonathan says it’s fine. He’ll see them soon anyway.

He tells them a little bit about work and Nancy and Steve and Kali and Robin. He shows pictures of everyone, only noticing then how many he has of Athena.

He’s prepared for all of Joyce’s sincere questions about them, but definitely not Hopper pointing to a picture of Athena, asleep in Jonathan’s arms, and asking:

“This is Athena, right?” 

Stunned, Jonathan nods jerkily. He swipes to a fourteen second clip of him, Nancy, and Steve cheering as Athena stands on her own for the first time. Jonathan and Steve had started to cheer for her to take her first steps. Nancy hushed them, insisting they not “pressure Athena”.

“She’s a beauty,” Joyce marvels. 

“Absolutely,” Jonathan agrees. “She’s just, the best.” 

“Hey, gonna take a call, be back in a sec,” Hopper says.

Joyce shoots Hopper a small smile and nods. Once he leaves the kitchen, she leans across the table and takes Jonathan’s hands into hers. “You can talk to him, just a little.”

His forehead wrinkles. “I am.”

“You’re responding to his questions, but you’re not engaging. I’m not — I get it. I do, okay? Your dad —”

“Has _nothing_ to do with this. I’m not — this isn’t about dad, I don’t — He and Hopper, they’re not the same people.”

“They really aren’t. But feelings don’t care enough to be stopped by that fact. Look, forget what I was trying to say, okay? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do this weekend. But he’s here when you’re ready.”

Jonathan suddenly can’t feel the floor beneath his feet anymore. His mouth opens. No words come out. He stares helplessly at Joyce, her hands warm in his. 

All he gets out is a strangled, weak, “_Mom,” _before a pair of hands grip his shoulders. He already knows who it is from the calluses of their fingers, how gentle their touch is, the hushed giggling they can’t conceal.

“YOU’RE HOME!”

Jonathan leaps to his feet and crushes his baby brother into a hug. “I’M HOME!” It knocks the chair over, but he can’t care about that with Will laughing in his ear and eagerly returning the hug. He catches Hopper’s knowing smile and Jane standing to his right from the corner of his eye. Jonathan should say hi to her. He will. 

But with the lingering taste of hot cocoa in his mouth and Will squeezing him tightly, he can’t think of much else.

.

.

.

When Will and Jane return a half-hour later, it’s with pizza. They’d bought it from Sal’s, five blocks away from their old high school, where Will, Joyce, and Jonathan would regularly go for Thursday night dinners.

The pizza is oily, has overly-hardened crust, and is more cheese than anything else. It’s perfect.

They’re all sitting around the dining table. Hopper and Joyce are on one side, Jonathan, Will, and Jane on the other.

They’re currently listening to Jane talk about her new piercing. “It didn’t hurt.” Jane touches her nose ring. It's a small stud until it fully heals and she can get a hoop. “Honest. Just a small pinch.”

“It looks great,” Joyce says.

“‘M thinking of getting my ear done,” Will announces. “Jane promised she’d hold my hand.”

Hopper looks confused, but nods. “So both ears or only one?”

“Haven’t decided,” Will says. 

“Do both,” Jonathan suggests through a mouthful of Hawaiian pizza. “Might as well go all the way, right? If you hate it just wait for it to close up. And, uh, you know. Jane’ll hold your hand.”

“It won’t hurt,” Jane says sagely. “But I’ll be there anyway. Or you could get _Oliver _to hold your hand ...”

“We’re eighteen year olds,” Will retorts, “we do more than just —”

“Whoa, whoa, _hey!” _Joyce says.

“Buddy,” Jonathan and Hopper say at the same time, which, what.

Jane throws a crumpled napkin at Will. “Dude. Don’t be gross.”

“I’m sorry,” Will says. “Truly.”

It’s a genuinely nice dinner. Jonathan certainly didn’t have this kind of banter and ease with all five of them as a unit before he left, but it’s here now, and it’s good. Joyce tells Jonathan about how she cut Jane’s hair on the floor of their washroom last week. Will tells Jonathan about how Hopper’s teaching him to drive. He confesses that Hopper’s only fifteen percent less scary about it than he thought he’d be. Hopper laughs and says he’d be better if Will wasn’t such a bad driver. Admittedly, it kind of hurts. He’d always thought about teaching Will to drive, but he can’t be — what, jealous? — if he’s the one who decided to leave. Besides, he’s happy for Will. He deserves all the fatherly things that their dad never would’ve given them.

It’s a little after one when they head to bed. Jane has an air mattress in Will’s room along with a change of clothes, so she crashes with Will. 

Jonathan’s all set to sleep. He had brushed his teeth, changed into sweatpants and an old Queen shirt, and crawled underneath his thick comforter. But after five minutes of lying in bed, he just can’t. Maybe he’s used to his lumpy mattress back at the cabin or maybe it’s the surreality of being home or maybe — maybe he just needs another cup of hot cocoa. That usually does the trick.

He leaves his room. Tiptoes down the stairway and into the kitchen. Pulls out a mug and a half-empty bag of marshmallows. 

And hears: “What’re you still doing up?”

Jonathan nearly jumps. He clutches his chest, heart beating wildly underneath his palm, and whirls around to find Hopper. “Asks the person who’s also up.”

Hopper’s smile is small, barely there. “Fair. Wouldn’t be too much of a problem to have whatever you’re having?”

Joyce’s words flash back to him: _You could talk to him, just a little._ He makes a decision. “If it was, say, vodka?” He can’t promise anything, but he can try, and he can do it just for tonight if that’s all he can take right now.

“I should probably reprimand you for that. But then I’d have to pass. I don’t drink anymore.”

“Anymore?” Jonathan winces. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

But Hopper only smiles, a big one that lights up his face. “You know, it’s not all that cold out. How ‘bout we sit on the porch with our hot cocoa and I’ll tell you all about it.”

A few minutes later, they sit next to each other on what used to be their squeaky, front-porch swing. It’s smoother than Jonathan remembers. Doesn’t squeak anymore or feel like it’s about to break with every push forward. Hopper must’ve fixed it. It really isn’t that cold out. Jonathan had grabbed Will’s navy blue jacket that used to be his own. It fits right, snug and fluffy like he’d remembered.

The first minute is quiet. They sip their hot chocolates. Jonathan flicks his gaze between his melting marshmallows, the night sky, and the moonlight around them.

“Murray tell you yet how we know each other?” Hopper brings the mug to his mouth. The stars reflect in his eyes. For a moment, Jonathan feels inexplicably safe.

“He did.”

“I was a _really _angry kid. Coming to Hawkins just made it worse. It wasn’t my uncle’s fault or anything, he was, what, your age, taking on a pissed off and traumatized seventeen year-old? That’s hard.”

“Not harder than being that seventeen year-old, though,” Jonathan mumbles.

The porch shifts back as Hopper chuckles. “You can imagine how easy it was to bottle it up with stupid shit that just made it all worse. No one understood, you know? Or at least, the only person who did understand was hours and hours away. It felt like I had nothing.”

Jonathan stills. “Didn’t you, though? In a way?”

“Sure,” Hopper says. “Depends on how you look at it. But for the first time, ever, I had stability, an adult I could count on and whose attention and love I had, fully, and ... a chance. My feelings of anger and hurt were valid, sure, but all my thoughts that drove me into a bottle and into nearly failing out of high school and mistreating the only family I had — those weren’t. Does that make sense?”

Jonathan takes a long sip of his hot cocoa. He licks a bit of melted marshmallow from his lower lip away. “It does.” He wants to push, ask why Hopper’s telling him all of this, but he doesn’t. It’s sort of nice to just listen to him talk, especially to hear about how much better things have gotten for him. It’s comforting. In the dark of night, underneath a sky full of stars and with a mug of lukewarm hot cocoa, he can also admit to himself that it’s a relief. 

“I knew alcohol wouldn’t fix anything, but I didn’t care. I figured nothing would fix it, so whatever, right? 

“Your mom remembers me as this absolute clown. We were friends, kind of, until she graduated, and I had to repeat my last year. Your mom’s special.”

“I know.” A hot flash burns into his mind as the question pops into his head, but he asks it anyway. “So if you knew her, you knew my dad too, right?”

A flicker of surprise passes across Hopper’s face. “Unfortunately.”

“Not as unfortunate as being his son,” Jonathan says. This earns him Hopper’s low snort of laughter, which helps him ease up, muscles relaxing, back leaning into the swing.

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Was he always terrible?”

“Does it matter? Would it change anything?”

Jonathan counts half a dozen stars before sighing. “I think it’d just make it worse.”

“You know I’m here, right? To be whatever you need?”

Jonathan’s chest tightens. He begins to bounce his leg up and down, a quiet thumping against the wooden porch. “You’re here to love my mom. Which is good. Fine by me.” 

“I’m not trying to be your dad,” Hopper continues. “Unless that’s what you want.”

“I want to know what’s with the sudden ambush,” Jonathan says, struggling to keep his voice neutral. “Unless you asked her to —”

Hopper chuckles. “God, no. We’ve done the whole marriage thing before. Maybe, I don’t know, later down the road we might consider it, but for now, we’re good like this. We are, however, moving in together.”

“Congrats.”

“And I do want you to be okay with it.”

“I won’t be living with you.”

“Doesn’t change anything to me.”

Jonathan puffs out a breath. “You make my mom happy and Will likes you. That’s enough for me.”

“Not enough for me.”

“_Why?” _He doesn’t mean for his voice to crack and for desperation to bleed through, but it’s too late. At least the darkness can conceal the bewildered look on his face and conceal the depth of Jonathan’s confusion. He doesn’t understand why it seems like Hopper _needs _to know him and get his approval so badly. 

“You’re the love of my life’s son,” Hopper says simply. “You matter to me. Automatically.”

A lump forms in Jonathan’s throat. He wants to argue, but more than that, he wants to sit and continue to feel wanted. “Okay.”

“You don’t have to like me or anything,” Hopper says quietly. “It’s fine if you don’t. But you can’t really stop me from liking you.”

“You’re the love of my mom’s life,” Jonathan parrots back. “I think part of me’s going to like you anyway.”

A moonbeam illuminates the side of Hopper’s face, makes his half-smile visible. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” A beat. “I’m sorry, all those times before I moved where you tried to hangout with me, take me to the mall or whatever, and I just —”

“Hey, cut that crap out. I get it, okay? I do.”

“I still want to say it,” Jonathan says stubbornly.

“Alright then. Apology accepted.”

They sit in silence for a few moments. Jonathan finishes the rest of his drink. He fiddles with his fingers, until he gathers enough courage to just blurt out a random question about Hopper’s job as the town’s Sheriff. The small-talk continues until Jonathan mentions that Nancy is Hawkins’ Sheriff. Just like that, the conversation makes the shift from small-talk to just talk. An ease forms between them, the kind where you don’t have to consider your responses and just say what you’re thinking, unfiltered.

They go back and forth. Jonathan learns a little more about Jane, how Hopper went from fostering her to adopting her, how his AA group works, how he started taking on sponsees. In turn, Jonathan shares about his job at Hawkins’ Post, the mundanity of it proving to be surprisingly nice and steady, everyone new in his life — Athena, Nancy, Steve, Kali, Robin — and the dog.

“Still struggling with a name,” Jonathan admits.

“Easy. You’re a huge music nerd, right?”

“I resent that term, but yeah.”

“Go with your favourite singer. They’ve all got cool names. David Bowie, Mick Jagger, Justin Bieber —”

“What part of me screams that I’m a _Belieber?”_

Hopper’s eyes narrow slightly. “The fact that you know what his fans are called?”

“So do you!”

“I have a teenager! Of course I know. What’s your excuse?”

“Let’s not mention this again,” Jonathan says quickly. “But good idea, even if — wait. You think Justin Bieber’s name is cool? You think _Justin _is cool?”

“Not mentioning this goes both ways, kid.”

.

.

.

“So are there pictures of hawks everywhere? Is that, like, your town’s mascot or whatever?”

Jonathan considers Jane’s question. “ ... No? But there should be. Wow. Everything feels wrong now.”

Jane suppresses a smile. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Small towns are weird.”

“This is a relatively small town,” Will says, popping back into the living room with a bowl of chips. “Proven by how often we see people from high school everywhere we go. It’s ridiculous. Absolutely unfair.”

“This town has nearly, what, fifteen thousand people? Hawkins, has, like. Three,” Jonathan says.

“_Three people _— oh. Wait. Three thousand. Got it.” Will tosses Jane’s leg off the sofa so he can sit next to her. “My bad.”

“And you live in a cabin, right?” Jane asks. “Weird.”

That’s not even the weirdest part, Jonathan thinks. He’ll tell them all about it. After Alexei’s home. 

“Not as weird as how he hasn’t named his dog yet.” Will arches an eyebrow.

Jonathan groans. “I’ll get to it! I will!”

“No, you’re Jonathan,” Jane says, snickering.

Will flops over onto her lap. “Oh my god, that was terrible.”

“No, that was brilliant,” Jonathan says.

They go out for lunch shortly afterwards, meeting Joyce and Hopper at Sal’s, the pizza place they had for dinner last night. Despite him knowing Sal’s first, it reminds him so much of Hawk’s Cafe that he’s surprised by how much he misses it already. 

It goes by smoothly. It feels natural, sitting in between Jane and Will, and across from Joyce and Hopper, all the teasing, interrupting, and bumping of elbows. 

And then the rest of the day just flies by. They go for a walk around town after lunch, catch a movie at six, and eat more popcorn for dinner. Joyce says sternly, but playfully that this is an exception since Jonathan’s in town, right before shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

That night, Joyce and Hopper gather the kids in the living room and asks how they’d feel about them moving in. 

“It’d be me and Janey in here, if that’s okay,” Hopper says. “We want all of your permission.”

“I’d love it,” Will says, clutching onto Jane’s arm excitedly.

Jane beams. “Is that even a _question?”_

Jonathan lightly elbows Jane. “Take my room.”

“What? No, that’s _your _room.”

“Yeah, so I’m giving it to you.”

“But — what if you decide to move back?”

It throws Jonathan off guard. His mouth hangs briefly as he really considers the chances of him moving back. “If I move back, then I’ll deal with it.”

Jane’s proceeding eye-roll is eerily similar to Joyce’s. “That’s not an answer.”

“We’re still keeping the cabin,” Hopper suggests. “You can always take it if you need it.”

“There! That’s an answer,” Jonathan says.

Joyce touches Jonathan’s back. “Are you sure, honey?”

“Absolutely,” Jonathan promises, squeezing her hand. He considers saying something terribly cheesy, like what are families for, but then Jane’s pulling everyone into a group hug, and his face is squished into Will’s shoulder, and Hopper’s huge arms wrap around all of them, and Joyce’s hair tickles his neck, and —

Jonathan shuts his eyes. He hugs them back. 

.

.

.

“Why are you awake right now?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Jonathan says. 

"I have an infant. You are on vacation,” Nancy says.

Jonathan switches his phone to his right ear as he uses his left hand to ruck his blanket higher up his body. “Going home is not a vacation. Where’s Steve?”

“Shower. Your family’s all asleep?”

“Mhm. We stayed up a little late last night. Monopoly is unnecessarily stressful.”

“That’s nice.” Nancy pauses. "You shouldn’t be talking to me. You’re with family. Go — go _be _with your family!”

“They’re _asleep. _I’m not waking them up.”

“Wake them up.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Thank you,” she says. “Hey, you want some coffee?”

Jonathan's eyebrows knit together. “Nance —”

She groans directly into the line. “I’m so tired. Jesus.”

“Go back to sleep,” he says softly. “Steve’s got Athena.”

“Athena is, blessedly, still asleep. Figured it’d be nice for the two of us to have breakfast, y’know? I’ll sleep after I eat. Don’t worry about me.”

He doesn’t try pretending like he wasn’t. He’s not very good at lying about things that matter. “How’s Athena?”

Nancy laughs quietly. “She misses you.”

“I’m calling bull,” he says, but smiles sleepily despite himself.

“I’m serious! We were looking through our pictures yesterday evening, and when she saw your face, she pointed at you and cried.”

His heart pangs. “Wait, why do you have a picture of me?”

“You’re a photographer!”

“This is Steve logic,” he tells her. “Do you know that?”

“You’re a photographer, so it’s a shame there aren’t more pictures of you. It’s a nice picture! Now let me just take one with your fancy camera.”

“Only if I get to wear your fancy badge.”

“ ... Deal.” 

Jonathan laughs. He rolls over, out of bed, and opens his blinds to let the sunlight in. “I wasn’t expecting you to agree to that.”

“Morning Nancy is very —” She’s interrupted by her own squealing. A loud thump sounds over the line, followed by distant laughter and Steve’s loud _good morning, wife!_

Jonathan’s face lifts into a smile, which is bizarre, since it’s 7:14 AM on a Sunday. 

“Sorry, man,” Steve says breathlessly into the line. “But when you see Nancy Wheeler first thing in the morning next to a pot of coffee, oh god, there aren’t even _words.”_

“Steve, you are incorrigible,” Nancy laughs. 

“I love it when you say made-up words, Nance.”

“I’m giving you a dictionary for Christmas.” 

Steve grunts. “And a broken back, too, huh?”

“Oh, so you want me to get off, huh?”

“Nance —”

“I dare you. Make the joke in front of our friend.”

“You’re killing me. I am dying.”

“Just make the joke,” Jonathan says. “And Nancy, are you on Steve’s back?”

“Yup,” Nancy says. Jonathan hears her press a loud kiss against what he guesses is Steve’s neck. “It’s a nice back.”

“Is it comfortable?” Steve drawls.

“Very,” Nancy says. “Here, let’s switch to FaceTime.”

He wants to say no, because it’s the morning, and no one looks good in the morning, except for Nancy and Steve, most definitely. He also can’t say no to them, so he doesn’t try, just accepts the switch with a tap to his phone and a resigned sigh.

It takes a few seconds to load. Jonathan’s halfway through a yawn when he sees them on his screen, Nancy’s arm extended to fit in her and Steve’s faces. He smiles automatically, heat rushing to his face.

“Good morning,” he says, like he hasn’t already been talking to them for several minutes. A new round of nerves hits him. Not just the fluttery butterflies he’s started to get used to, but something else.

He should’ve asked them this weeks ago. Maybe them being in the dark about the truth of Hawkins made more sense back then, but there’s no way that it does now. Nancy’s the town’s Sheriff and Steve’s her husband, so of course they know. They’re smart. They’ve lived in this town long enough. And they’re just reckless enough that he can easily picture them running headfirst into danger, into protecting Hawkins. Nancy already does it everyday for a living. It’s not a big reach to think she’d do it in more ways than one. 

He doesn’t think they’ll have any of Alexei’s remaining journals, but they’re a good shot at getting it. He just has to ask.

Just ... ask.

_Ask._

“Hey, man, you okay?”

Jonathan refocusses back to the screen. Nancy has since hopped off of Steve’s back. She’s further in the back, perched on their kitchen counter, a mug held between both of her hands. Steve’s now holding the phone and has it raised to fit them both in the screen.

“Hey, I, uh, wanted to ask you guys a question, actually.”

“Shoot,” Nancy says.

“So you both know how I’m helping Murray with —”

“His stupid and baseless hunt into made-up bullshit?”

Steve whistles. “Wow, Nance. I don’t think you could get any more passive aggressive.”

Nancy shrugs and drinks her coffee. “Sorry for interrupting, Jonathan. continue.”

“Like I was _saying, _I just.” There are probably a dozen other ways he could do this. Something more tactful, and subtle strategic than asking them point-blank. But he just doesn’t see the point. He trusts them wholeheartedly. He doesn’t need anything more than that. “I need to know if you believe in any of it. If you’ve _seen _any of it.”

Nancy and Steve stare back at him.

He wishes he could read their expressions. Steve’s face is hidden from his long sip of his coffee. Nancy’s sitting too far back for him to gauge her expression. It’s been brought up before. Steve hasn’t really acknowledged it, so Jonathan figured he didn’t think much of it, and Nancy’s clearly made her stance. That doesn’t mean they didn’t know, but he’s also decided that it doesn’t mean that they were lying, either. They had no reason to tell him they knew too before.

But they do now.

Jonathan doesn’t miss the long look Nancy and Steve share. He sucks in a breath, holds it in his chest, and waits. His heartbeat picks up. He’s definitely awake now.

“I wish we could give you the answer that you want, but no,” Steve says. 

“I don’t mean to make fun of you, all the shit I say is just — if you believe it, then I believe you. But Hawkins is just ... Hawkins. It’s not extraordinary. It’s not anything other than what it appears to be.” Nancy smiles pityingly. “Trust us on that.”

He gives himself one second to deflate. He’d really thought, he’d really gotten his hopes up, he’d actually _asked —_

The second passes. There’s no time to wallow when instead, he can redirect all of his efforts into finding the rest of Alexei’s journals.

Or maybe it’s not the journals he needs.

Maybe he already has what he needs.

Maybe —

“Shit.”

“Jonathan?” Steve frowns.

“One second, one —” He fumbles to open up the Notes app on his phone, type out WHERE DID HE GO. That’s not going to make any sense to him later when he tries explaining to Murray, so he writes A DOOR, then remembers what the word PORTAL is, and adds that too. 

Murray had thrown that idea that Alexei was probably lost somewhere other than Earth. Ted basically confirmed that none of the creatures in Hawkins would truly ever do them any harm — maybe injure or maim an oblivious resident, but not kill. No one in the town would be behind Alexei’s disappearance.

It’s such a stretch, but it’s all they have. And it feels like _something. _

Alexei was smart enough to have made something that powerful, something he could’ve lost himself into. 

Plus, if there is a portal, there’s only one place it would be.

“Hey, talk to us,” Nancy says. “You’re freaking us out!”

“Sorry!” He returns to the video chat and laughs, flustered. “I just thought of the, er, perfect solution to this work-related problem I had. Don’t, uh, worry about what I just asked. I wanted to know what you guys thought as, like, long-term residents of Hawkins. I’m open minded, but you know, I’m starting to lose faith.”

“Like Nance said,” Steve says nonchalantly. He leans back and wraps an arm around Nancy’s shoulder. “If you believe it, then we believe it!”

“I don’t really believe it,” Jonathan says. “So. Don’t, I guess?”

“Don’t tell Murray that,” Nancy teases. Her eyes close, a contented look passing over her features as she nuzzles Steve’s jaw. Steve half-smiles and kisses Nancy’s forehead.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jonathan says softly.

A fist raps against his door from the other side. “Hey, Joyce and Dad aren’t up yet, so we’re going to get pancakes from McDonalds. You’re coming, right?”

“Course,” he says. “Just give me a minute!”

“Jane, right?” Nancy asks. “Mom’s boyfriend’s daughter?”

“You’ve got it. Looks like we’re heading out. I’ll call you guys later?”

“Don’t,” Steve says. “Enjoy time with your family, man. We’ll see you when you’re back.”

Jonathan nods. Warmth spreads in his chest. “Yeah, okay. Have a good day. Tell Athena I said hi.”

As if on cue, a loud and sudden wailing starts in the background.

“You jinxed it!” Nancy and Steve accuse.

“Oh, no, bad reception, gotta go, send Athena my love, have a great day, bye guys!”

“You’re a dork,” Nancy says, making it sound more like a compliment than an insult, before hanging up.

.

.

.

“How do I say this nicely?”

“He looks constipated,” Jane says. “I can say it for you, Jonathan, it’s fine.”

Jonathan stifles a laugh. He zooms out of Hopper and Joyce’s faces on his camera. “I wouldn’t use constipated, but ...”

Hopper scowls. He untangles his arm from around Joyce’s waist and rubs his temples. “I’m not a model.”

Joyce combs her index finger through his beard. “Oh, I’d disagree.”

“Coming from you,” Hopper scoffs. A faint blush spreads across his cheeks.

“Do you know what happiness looks like, Hop? Go for that,” Will says.

Jonathan glances over his shoulder at Will and Jane behind him. Jane’s perched up on the top of her couch, her feet swung over Will’s shoulders as he sits, cross-legged, on the cushion. “I feel like you guys can give more helpful suggestions,” he says patiently. “Like, maybe smile without teeth?”

“That’ll look even worse,” Joyce says with a frown. 

“How about you just edit me smiling?” Hopper suggests, gesturing to Jonathan. 

“Um. That could probably, maybe work if you had a picture of you smiling?”

Hopper looks at Jane. “Do I —”

“No,” Jane says.

Joyce slips an arm around Hopper’s waist, pulls him back to her. “You love me. Look like it, goddammit.”

Hopper’s jaw hangs. “I always look like it!”

“Not right now you don’t!”

“You don’t look like you love me right now!”

“This is love-shouting! I am shouting _lovingly, _since I love you!”

“I love you too!”

Stunned, Jonathan lowers his camera, lets it hang from his neck. He looks a little helplessly at Will. _You seeing this?_

Will just nods with a small, knowing smile. _Get used to it._

This is very weird. He’s used to raised voices, but not like this. But maybe, just maybe, he could get used to it.

He mindlessly grips his camera again and snaps picture after picture. If he takes pictures without pausing, he’ll inevitably strike gold with at least a few decent shots. Joyce and Hopper aren’t yelling anymore. They’re pointing and making fun of each other. 

“Hey, lovebirds,” Jane calls out. “Look at the camera!”

Joyce and Hopper turn back to face the kids and Jonathan’s camera. 

“Oh, what,” Hopper says. “You are getting my worst angles there, kid.”

“This is not what we meant when we asked for a nice photo or two,” Joyce adds. She’s trying to look disgruntled with her arms crossed below her chest, but it’s not working from how her lips keep twitching upwards.

“I disagree.” Jonathan pointedly takes another picture. “This is what you asked for.”

Joyce fondly rolls her eyes. She nestles her head against Hopper’s shoulder. 

Hopper slides his arm around her waist. “Is it?”

“Definitely.” Jonathan zooms away from their faces, capturing their entire bodies as well as the doorframe. He stands by all of the pictures he took, because those were real and honest and sincere, but this is definitely the best one. They both look soft and comfortable in each other’s embrace. Neither are looking at the camera, gazes continuously bouncing between Will, Jane, and Jonathan. Joyce’s face is flushed and radiant from laughter. Hopper’s tiny smile is genuine.

“He likes taking pictures of everything,” Will says.

Jonathan takes another picture. “No, no. Just the good stuff.”

.

.

.

A few hours and several dozens of pictures of a combination of all five of them later, Jonathan’s set to leave. 

“You’re coming back for the holidays, right?” Jane asks.

“Of course.” Jonathan slings his duffel bag over his back, and says to Will, “I want pictures of your ears.”

Hopper’s footsteps down the hallway are heard before he enters into the kitchen. “That’s a normal sentence.”

“He’s talking about my piercing,” Will says. “But yeah, you could’ve phrased it better.”

Jonathan laughs. “Whatever.”

“You have everything?”

Jonathan turns around and nods immediately at the sight of Joyce. “I didn’t bring a lot, anyway.”

“Your wallet?”

“Yup.”

“Your keys?”

“Yup.”

“What about the key to the house?”

“I don’t have a —”

Joyce smiles knowingly. She outstretches her hand. “Now you do.” Inside her palm sits two silver keys and keychain. Upon closer inspection, the keychain is a clay mug with brown at the top, presumably hot chocolate, and white dots atop that that must represent marshmallows.

Jonathan’s throat wells up. “Two keys?”

“One for here, one for Jim’s cabin,” she explains.

Hopper gently but firmly claps Jonathan’s shoulder. “We’re moving here, but you still ought to have a key to the cabin.”

“Are you sure?” Jonathan sputters.

Joyce dangles the keys in front of his face. “Take the damn keys, sweetheart.”

They all watch him add the keys and keychain onto his ring of keys, which previously consisted of a key to the cabin and the keys to his car. He clutches them to his chest and looks at both Hopper and Joyce. “Thank you.”

Hopper smiles, rubbing Joyce’s back absentmindedly. Hopper doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

They don’t hug as Jonathan bids his goodbyes, but they nod, and it’s enough. He hugs everyone else, ruffles Will’s hair, squeezes Jane’s shoulder, and kisses Joyce’s forehead. He promises again to be back soon, either for Thanksgiving or at least before Hanukkah. 

He doesn’t cry like the last time he left for Hawkins. When he pauses before climbing into the driver’s seat, his eyes do water at the sight of Joyce, Hopper, Will, and Jane waving at him on the front porch. But they’re not sad tears. Not at all.

He traces the edges of the hot cocoa keychain. Takes a deep breath in. Deep breath out. Waves back. And gets into his car.

.

.

.

Jonathan returns to Hawkins at a quarter past eleven.

He’s exhausted to his very core, but it’s exhaustion that comes from having a really good day — the best kind.

There’s so much on his mind, but sleep comes first. He’ll call Murray first thing in the morning, because in the state he’s in, nothing he’ll say will make any sense.

He parks his car and does a half-jog to the cabin’s front steps, excitement at the prospect of laying in his bed for an uninterrupted seven and a half hours pushing him forward. He pulls his keys out. Smiling down at the newest additions to his ring, he hears his dog’s paws against the wooden floor, followed by his pawing eagerly at the door.

His smile widens. “Coming, bud.”

His key jingles in the lock before a gentle _click_ is emitted. The second he pushes the door open, his dog rises on his hind legs and paws away at Jonathan’s thighs.

Jonathan stumbles, but doesn’t fall. He tosses his duffel bag a few feet away and kicks the door shut. “Hey, hey, I missed you too. I think I’ve got a name for you, too.” He scratches behind his dog’s ear.

It physically pains him to turn around and lock the door. The moment he does so, the dog backs away, his panting heavy and loud. “How does Freddie sound?”

Jonathan turns back around.

At first, he can tell something is off, but not what exactly is.

His brain’s lagging from all that driving and all the familial activities he’d done today. He tilts his head, scratches underneath his chin. “Freddie? Fr — oh, fuck me.”

Standing eye-level with a dog that is now taller than you and has grown about three times in size isn’t the weirdest thing that’s happened to Jonathan since moving here. But god, does it come close.

Freddie stands on his hind legs. His head nearly bumps into the ceiling. His dog is literally Clifford the fucking big red dog, the only difference being colour.

“Freddie, what the fuck,” Jonathan says helplessly.

Freddie licks Jonathan’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not much to say but:  
1) i really hope you enjoyed the family time + hopper & jonathan talks, because their late-night talk was one of the first few scenes i thought of and have been most excited to write  
2) DOGS!!!!!!!!!! i hope y'all like his name. i went back and forth a lot, and honestly didn't know what to choose, so freddie won just because that's the name of my good friend lol. i love all of jonathan's favourite musicians!
> 
> i hope all of your holidays went well!!! 2020 WILL be kinder and that IS a threat. i'd love to know what you thought of this chapter!!!!!! take care y'all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently, the best way to revisit a wip that's collecting dust from how long you've neglected it is to find an excuse not to work on your homework. though, i promised myself i'd finish my french assignment prior to posting this, so yay, compromise?
> 
> see you back at the end notes!!

“Maybe I should name you Clifford instead, huh?”

Jonathan’s laying on the floor, his gigantic, seven-feet tall dog hovering over him. Freddie licks Jonathan’s face once, leaving a long wet trail that covers his face entirely.

He’s not sure whether he should laugh or cry. He decides on the former, because if you can’t laugh about it, then you can’t get through any of it.

And honestly, is there really a downside to this? It’s been about five minutes of Jonathan staring at Freddie in awe, tentatively petting him as Freddie continues to be excited at Jonathan’s return. Freddie continuously licks Jonathan’s face and paws at his leg, before he yawns, spit flying at Jonathan’s nose, and all seven feet — and whatever amount of pounds — of him lays by Jonathan’s side.

Huge Freddie is just Freddie. He’s not hurting Jonathan, only doing the opposite of it.

Freddie rests his huge and warm head on Jonathan’s stomach.

Jonathan wraps his arm around him. For the first time in a few minutes, his heartbeat calms down, erratic pulse steadying with every heavy breath Freddie exhales against him. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? How long have you been keeping this from me? That’s okay, even if I have a _million _questions. You know who’ll have more, though?”

Jonathan carefully extracts his phone from his back pocket. “It’s cool if I send a picture of you to Murray, right?”

Freddie barks.

“A yes it is.”

He holds his phone out and takes a picture of himself and Freddie. Of course, Freddie’s entire body doesn’t fit in the picture, only part of his head, but that just further emphasizes his sudden change in size. He sends it to Murray, then reluctantly gets up.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah? It’s been a long day.”

He texts Kali a lengthy thanks for watching Freddie as he’s brushing his teeth. He wonders, then, if Freddie shifted in front of her at any point, but shortly figures that she would’ve told him if that happened, anyway. 

He sends another text to Steve since he checks his texts more regularly than Nancy. 

Jonathan: _Back home. I might swing by the Cafe for lunch if you and Athena are free?_

Steve responds immediately.

Steve: _no nance? dw i won’t tell her that i’m ur favourite_

Jonathan: _More like I know her work schedule._

Steve: _why can’t u just admit that i’m ur favourite_

Jonathan: _Athena might actually be my favourite._

Jonathan: _But I like you and Nance a lot too_

Jonathan: _Not as much, but still_

Steve, as he does often, replies with a picture. Jonathan’s heart flips when a picture of Nancy holding Athena up in the air, both giggling at each other. Athena’s hand cups one side of Nancy’s face. 

Steve: _aw, Byers_

Steve: _we like you too_

He crawls into bed, smiling stupidly at his phone. He takes a picture of himself, a purposely awkward smile on his face, and a thumbs up because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself. 

Taking a picture of himself _and _sending it to someone, especially someone not in his immediate family? Jonathan Byers from three months ago would never.

But this is who he is right now. And he’s alright with that.

Freddie doesn’t join Jonathan on his bed. He curls up on the floor. Jonathan kind of hates it, but the bed would break with him on it, and he doesn’t know how to make Freddie go back to his smaller size.

He’s way too lax about having Clifford the big red dog as a pet. But Freddie’s still adorable, and if no one’s hurt, then it doesn’t really matter.

When he wakes up, it’s with Freddie by his side. Freddie’s gone back to regular size. Jonathan strokes his back, checks the time, and figures he can sleep for another five minutes.

.

.

.

“Oh, shit, Athena —”

“It’s fine,” Jonathan assures. 

“She’s drooling over your new keychain.” Steve gently pries the keychain out of Athena’s hands and hastily wipes it with the back of his scarf. “There we go.”

Jonathan chuckles and puts his keys back in his pockets. “Thanks.” 

Steve helps Athena stand up in between his legs, eyes trained on Jonathan. “So you had a good time, yeah?”

“Really good time. My family, they’re, uh — they’re everything to me,” he admits as he stirs his coffee with a spoon.

Steve foots him from underneath the table. “It’s been five minutes and you haven’t shown me any pictures. What the fuck.”

“You need to stop swearing in front of Athena or her first word is going to be _that _word,” Jonathan teases, unlocking his phone.

Steve hooks his hands underneath Athena’s armpits and bounces her up and down. “Wouldn’t that be awesome, though? If her first word was _that _one?”

“Would Nance like that?” Jonathan asks, already knowing the answer.

“No, but she likes _me, _so that cancels out.”

Jonathan chuckles. He opens up to the first picture he took of Hopper and Joyce and passes it to Steve.

“Here, how ‘bout you hold her, and I’ll look at the pictures?”

Jonathan rushes to his feet to scoop Athena into his arms. Athena’s hand dives right into his hair and twists.

“I’m going, I’m going,” he says to her, sitting back on his side of the booth. “I heard you missed me? Is that true?”

Athena scrunches her nose up as she continuously pats Jonathan’s shoulder.

“I’m not sure how to interpret that, but thank you.”

“She missed you _so _much,” Steve says, looking down at Jonathan’s phone. “She looked _heartbroken_ Friday night when you weren’t at our place.”

Jonathan’s eyes crinkle with a smile. “Won’t happen again. Pinky promise.” He wraps his pinky around hers. She doesn’t squeeze back, but she does wave her fist at him.

“So this is mom’s boyfriend?” Steve flips Jonathan’s phone around and shows Jonathan a picture he’d taken of Hopper after Jane flung a Cheeto into his beard.

“Yup. We had a shockingly sincere conversation the night I got in.”

“Shocking why? Is he an — an ash-hole?”

Jonathan raises an eyebrow. “Thought you were okay if Athena swore for her first word?”

“Yeah, but now that I think about it, _I _like Nance too, and she’d like it better if Athena’s first word was something we could repeat to Nance’s mom. Sacrifices for love are always worth it.”

“Definitely.” Jonathan stifles a laugh. “Anyway, uh, he’s not a bad person. But we’ve never really bonded, I guess? And that’s not on him. More on me.”

Steve nods, understanding smoothing his features. “I get it. Man, dads really screw you over for life, right?” He lowers his gaze to Athena and his face softens. “I won’t do that to her.”

“Of course you won’t. You’re — you’re good. You’re a good guy, Steve.” Without thinking about it, Jonathan reaches across the table and covers Steve’s hand with his own.

Which is right when a waitress, who isn’t Kali which Jonathan isn’t used to, approaches their table. 

“Hey y’all,” Not-Kali says with a chipper smile. She pulls a pencil out of her curly brown hair and taps her notepad with it. “What can I get for you today?”

“Uh.” Steve’s fingers twitch underneath Jonathan’s, but they don’t move. “Can I have one hot chocolate and a scone? Hey, man, you want your usual?”

“Uh.” Jonathan’s palm sweats. “Yeah?”

“Add a large watermelon juice with a blueberry muffin. Thanks, Heather.”

Not-Kali/Heather smiles. “My pleasure. Anything for the little one yet?” 

“Not yet,” Jonathan says. “Unless you wanna give Athena some juice?”

“Sure. Let’s go with a small cup of orange juice too?” Steve smiles politely at Heather.

Heather scribbles that onto her notepad. “Sounds great!” She turns around and heads back to the counter.

Jonathan stares at the empty space where she’d been standing. Athena pats the side of his face. He doesn’t budge. She then firmly tilts his face forward.

Jonathan meets Steve’s gaze. He manages a shaky smile. “Hey.”

At first, Steve doesn’t respond. A knot forms in Jonathan’s chest until Steve hooks his thumb around Jonathan’s, touch feather-light. “Thanks for saying that.”

“I’m just being honest. Athena’s lucky.” 

“You know, Nance and I were a little scared when we first had her. Okay, no, we were entirely scared, but worried that she wouldn’t have a complete life.” Steve’s picks at a napkin with his free hand as he bites his lip. “Mike’s out of Hawkins for at least the next three years for school. Nance is pretty mad at her dad, so we don’t see her youngest sister too often now. The rest of her extended family are across the state and didn’t really defend Nancy when her dad blew up about the pregnancy. And my mom’s in and out for work, my dad’s ... awful. I don’t know his kids very well. So you can get why we were worried that we weren’t giving her enough. Kids need people around them that aren’t just their parents.”

“You and Nance are enough,” Jonathan says firmly.

Steve digs his index finger into the back of Jonathan’s hand. “Let me finish. We were worried, but then Mike sends homemade toys for her every month. Holly always has a drawing for Athena whenever we go over for dinner. Nance’s mom is just so fond of her and is always offering to babysit. My mom knits these, like, I think they’re supposed to be hats, but we end up using them as tiny blankets for her, and she mails them in. And Robin and Kali are just always here. They love her, so much, and it’s not like we didn’t expect that, but we didn’t expect it to be so unconditional. We tell them we can’t go out, so they come over to our place with platters of lasagna and pasta. We can’t do game-nights, so we do game-evenings. And everything we do, they invite Athena. They want her there. And that’s just. Really special.”

Steve pauses. He turns Jonathan’s hand over, traces circles into his palm. “And you, obviously. You love her,” he says, not a question, but a fact. 

“I do,” Jonathan says, choked up. “I really love her.” He’s said those words about two people in all of his life, and it feels right that she’s the third person. 

Steve’s mouth cracks into a half-smile. “And that means everything to us. Nance and I had this talk, a week before Athena was born, about everything we wanted for her and what we wanted to give her. We made separate lists — yeah, you know whose idea that was — and we had mostly the same results. Nance put good education, I put her not going to the same schools that we did because we had a terrible education. Stuff like that. The first thing we both put is love. We want her to be loved, to give her as much as possible. And I think it’s only hitting me now that she’s getting it. She’s really getting it.”

Heather arrives with their drinks and pastries. Her eyes drop to their joined hands but she doesn’t say anything, just smiles and leaves briskly.

“She is.” Jonathan doesn’t say anything else, because sometimes you can be heard without needing to speak. He smooths back Athena’s hair and squeezes Steve’s hand. 

Neither let go.

.

.

.

“I can’t believe you didn’t immediately tell me at work that your dog is a monster.”

“I sent you a picture of him! It’s not my fault you don’t check your phone. And don’t speak about him like that,” Jonathan snaps. He shines his flashlight in Murray’s face. He probably shouldn’t, not when they’ve ventured further than they’re used to, past the lake and near the town’s borders, and are already spooked. “He’s right here.”

“He could be the shapeshifter!”

“He hasn’t _shifted _into a person yet. He just gets ... bigger and then small. Ted said it shifted into one of his gnomes and could turn into anything. Freddie only has two modes. Plus, he hasn’t hurt me.”

“Yet,” Murray mumbles, just as regular-sized Freddie begins barking. “Great. Now I’ve pissed him off.”

“Or he’s found something, you — oh, what the fuck.”

“Don’t you mean whom the fuck,” says one of the six heads on the deformed bear standing two feet away from them.

“Jesus Christ,” Jonathan grumbles, stumbling back. A twig snaps underneath his feet. He almost falls, but his vice-like grip on Murray’s arm keeps him upright. Freddie whines, his nose nudging Jonathan’s ankle. “Let’s run now?”

But of course, Murray doesn’t move a muscle, blinking up at the monstrous, buffed-up bear with awe that Jonathan both doesn’t understand and vehemently hates. Let his obituary read that he wasn’t killed by this odd bear but by this odd man.

“Fascinating,” Murray says. “Are you all one person or six individual people forced together?”

“We’re clearly not a person, first and foremost,” the same head says. Is that an English accent? “And the rest is of no concern to you. Leave now or die.”

“Great, let’s leave,” Jonathan says but Murray doesn’t budge. “Oh my god, do you _want _to die?”

“What do you know about Alexei Novikoff?” 

All six heads roar. A large drop of spit strikes Jonathan’s nose even from the four feet of space separating them. He nearly drops the flashlight, hissing as he wipes the slobber off his face. 

“That mad scientist?” British Bear continues, and oh. 

“You know Alexei?” Jonathan tips his flashlight up, shining it right in the main bear’s face. “How’d you know him?”

“Did you not hear my threat of leave or —”

“Or die, yeah, okay, whatever,” Jonathan says. “Do you know him or not? We’re looking for him.”

“You won’t find him.”

Jonathan’s blood turns cold. A shiver runs down his spine. He’d be rooted to the ground if it weren’t for Murray charging forward, both fists raised. 

“Don’t you dare —” Murray seethes, reaching for the gun strapped to his waist.

Jonathan yanks him back by the elbow. “Relax, would you? Just let me.” He shoves Murray back, clears his throat, and takes a tentative step forward. “Hi, sir.” Yup, he’s definitely going to die. “We just want to know what you may know about Alexei. He’s a good friend and a good man and we just want to bring him home.”

What’s more alarming than speaking to a giant mutated bear with multiple heads is having said bear march towards you until it’s directly looking down at you. Jonathan can hear each breath it takes, could reach out and touch its fur. His hand trembles but he doesn’t back down, tilting his head up and his flashlight along with it. 

The bear’s black nose wrinkles. “You want to bring him home?”

Jonathan nods rapidly. “We’ve been researching for months and we think we have a lead — I mean, _I _think I have a lead, I haven’t told Murray yet —”

“_What_?” Murray squawks from behind Jonathan.

“I was going to! Then we saw the bear, and — okay, anyway, we’ve been trying to find him for a few months now and we could use all the help we can get. It sounds like you ... you _all _know him. Yeah?”

“Yes,” the bear says. Definitely a British accent. “You’re right. He’s a good man. Hawkins has had many scientists come and try to distort the balance of this town by kidnapping us, experimenting on us, exposing us to the town and the rest of the world. You know where they all are now?”

Jonathan shakes his head.

The bear pats what Jonathan can only presume is its stomach. “In here. Or more accurately, long-since digested. Either that or the gnomes killed them _or _Bigfoot —”

“Did you just say Bigfoot?” Murray asks, giddiness dripping in his voice. 

“I did. You won’t find him now. He likes spring better. My point is they’ve all come to this town with the hopes of leaving with the biggest breakthrough of the millennia. They don’t _care _about us. Alexei? He did. He got to know us. Befriended us. Took the time to get us to trust him. When he went missing, well, it was a very sad time for everyone in this town.”

Jonathan’s known abstractly that Alexei’s a good person. Living in his cabin, spending all this time with Murray, diving into Alexei’s work and life — he’s gotten to know Alexei through all of it. But hearing about the imprint he had on this town and his kindness, especially from a creature who just threatened to kill them a minute ago, makes his heart clench. Whatever happened to Alexei, he didn’t deserve it. Whatever happened, they’re going to bring him home.

“Do you know anything about what happened? Where he went?” Jonathan asks, voice breaking with desperation. 

The rest of its heads growl in tandem, loud, deafening noises that reverberate throughout the forest. Jonathan’s flashlight slips out of his grasp and lands on his foot. He swallows back a scream, wills himself not to move. He’s afraid. But he doesn’t have to let it show. He picks his flashlight back up, a gust of wind passing by and biting at his skin, all without breaking eye contact with the main bear.

He has no idea what that was but Murray seems to. “They don’t trust us.”

“I need proof before I start blabbering on to _humans _such as yourselves,” the bear says shortly. “I can’t trust anyone that makes such claims. Why should I blindly trust the word of anyone claiming they have good intentions? You could be trying to finish up Alexei’s work and destroy the world.”

“We don’t care about ending the world, we just care about him,” Jonathan bites out. He doesn’t know what he’s doing — the story of his life — but he’s marching forward, his jaw clenched, eyes flashing. “We didn’t even mean to find you here, how could we be lying about this? You’re a bear _thing, _can’t you tell when two people are lying or not?”

“Mind your tone. I could step on you and you would die.”

“Jonathan,” Murray warns. He says something else but Jonathan can’t hear him over how _infuriated _he is.

“So step on me!” Jonathan stretches his arms, gesturing to himself. “I dare you. Step on me and know that the more time you spend threatening me, the more time Alexei spends _wherever _he is, wasting away. Go ahead! Step on me! _Eat me_!”

“You need to calm down.” Murray’s hand comes down to rest briefly on Jonathan’s shoulder before he’s pushing Jonathan back.

“I’ve got this,” Jonathan insists, shaking his fist up at the bear. “Bite my hand off, you coward!”

“Disregard him. He’s just a little cranky.” Murray elbows Jonathan and walks forward before Jonathan can elbow him back. He gets close to the bear, close enough that the bear could reach down and bite his head off, but with most things, Murray doesn’t appear fazed. He pulls something out from his pocket, unfolds it, and lifts it towards the bear. In his other hand, he points his flashlight at whatever he’s showing the bear. “Here’s your proof.”

Jonathan didn’t think it could be possible for this bear thing to soften and smile, and yet.

“Okay,” it drawls. “This is all the evidence I need. You speak Russian?”

“Do _you_?”

The bear says something in Russian and then they’re off, spitting rapid-fire Russian to one another. Jonathan wants to say that this is the most baffling experience of his life but nothing can truly top the experience of being chased down the road by an army of gnomes. At least no one’s in danger right now.

He tends to Freddie, curling him in his arms, rubbing his belly. “Was that scary? I was pretty scared. I bet you could’ve taken him though.”

Freddie licks Jonathan’s cheek. His tail starts to wag, soft fur warming Jonathan’s skin. Jonathan laughs, letting Freddie down. “Wanna play fetch?”

Freddie barks.

And so they play, Jonathan tossing a twig from the ground, Freddie retrieving it, and repeat. They keep going for ten minutes until Murray says, “Okay, we’re going now.”

Jonathan straightens to full height. His forehead creases as he dusts the dirt from his hands off. “You’re done?”

“Yup. Multi-bear over here has helped tremendously. Thank you very much.”

Multi-bear — Jonathan can’t tell if it’s an odd nickname or its actual name, so let’s just roll with it — gives Murray a small bow, every eye briefly shutting and every head ducking. “Alexei was quite fond of you. He spoke highly of you. Make sure that you’re the first person he sees when you bring him back.”

Murray half-smiles. “I’ll try my best.”

Jonathan mutters a quick thanks, antsy to get out of here in case something else shows up. An ox with eight heads, maybe. As soon as he has that thought, he’s speed-walking even faster, needing to leave this forest as soon as possible. He wouldn’t put it past this town to have a neat ability where any monster you imagine magically appears in front of you.

He waits until they’re out of the forest and seated in Murray’s car to ask about his conversation with the Multi-Bear. “Did he tell you what Alexei was up to?”

Murray turns his headlights on, adjusts his front mirror. “Yup. We were right. He was looking into another dimension, trying to find the source for all the weird stuff in this town. What was it you wanted to tell me? Back then, you said you had a lead?”

“Oh. Well, it wasn’t really a lead, but an idea that — well.” Jonathan scratches his neck, his face warming up, not just from the car’s heater. “So we already figured he was stuck somewhere that wasn’t here and that meant there had to have been, like, a door, a portal to get there, and we already found his journal in the cabin, so that portal has gotta be _in_ the cabin. Maybe the other two journals are how we find it or even how we activate it. There has to be a basement or something we just have to find it. We could tear the cabin apart. Or let Athena back in the cabin since she found the journal in the first place. That’s a joke, by the way. I mean, I think it’s a joke, she’s a really good detective.” 

He can’t make out Murray’s face in the dark. Silence stretches between them, the only thing Jonathan can hear his heartbeat.

“So?” Jonathan hedges. “What do you think?”

“The _cabin_. Of course!” Murray laughs, reaching across the console to shake Jonathan by the shoulders. “Multi-bear said Alexei’s _three _journals were what he used to activate the portal, that there _was _some big portal he had been tinkering with, and that he used this, this _fuel. _It’s like sap, it comes from the trees of the forest we were just in, but we have to wait until spring.”

Jonathan laughs back. Despite November’s bone-deep chill, he’s warm from the inside out, entire body vibrating with excitement. The puzzle’s coming together. Just a few more pieces. Just a few more months until they find Alexei.

“We just have to find the other two journals!” Murray continues. “It’s gotta be in the cabin. It starts and ends there. We find the journals, we get that fuel as soon as the leaves turn green, and he’ll be here by the end of March.”

“The end of March,” Jonathan repeats, dazed. He covers the hand Murray has on his shoulder with his own and squeezes. “We’re gonna do it. Holy shit!”

They laugh and babble and get even more excited in Murray’s car until it occurs to Jonathan that —

“Hey, I didn’t see what it was you showed Multi-bear to get him — them to change its mind.”

Murray shifts in his seat and pulls something out of his back pocket. He sets it on Jonathan’s lap.

It’s a folded up square photo. He unfolds it and immediately recognizes it. It’s the one of younger Murray and Alexei, Alexei looking starry-eyed at Murray, their cheeks pressed together. 

He slides his thumb down the length of the photo. He’s seen it before but it still knocks the air out of his lungs, to see a version of his boss so happy, to see Alexei with all that life in him. A lump forms in his throat. Gently, he folds the picture back up and hands it back to Murray.

“We should recreate it in March,” Jonathan says offhandedly. He straps his seatbelt on, sinks into his seat with a yawn.

Murray just smiles and huffs a short laugh. He starts the car and drives. Jonathan yawns into his arm, staring out the window, at the hazy glow of the headlights, the emptiness of the road, the trees they pass, and what appears to be the first snowfall of winter.

.

.

.

A few days later, Jonathan pops into Hawk’s Cafe for a cup of coffee and a hello to Kali. He hasn’t seen her since before he left to visit his family and it’s been too long.

That, and he needs a cup of strong coffee. He’s pouring over Alexei’s journal, again, trying to find _something. _He needs to look at it with a fresh set of eyes, but it’s hard when he’s already read it so many times. He’s hoping caffeine will help.

He takes his usual seat at the front counter. A waitress he hasn’t seen before greets him.

“What can I get you?”

“Coffee and a blueberry muffin, please?” 

“Sure thing.” She flashes him a thin-lipped smile then disappears in the back.

He scans the cafe and, upon not finding Kali, sighs. He’ll see her Sunday, but he can’t help the twinge of disappointment that sours his mood.

And it seems like he’s not the only one.

“Fuck.” 

He turns around at the sound of Robin’s voice, spotting her a few feet behind him. “Hey.”

Robin’s bitter expression dissolves, her face lighting up in recognition. She walks up to Jonathan and slips into the seat beside him. “Jonathan, hey. Kali’s not here, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Dammit.”

“You, uh, okay?”

“I’m great,” she bites out, her voice muffled by her palms. She slumps in her seat, her head on the counter, hair in her face. “We had a fight.”

Jonathan nods slowly. He can’t imagine he’ll be as helpful as Nancy or Steve, but they’re not around and he wants to try. “And?”

“And I’m a fucking _idiot!”_

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re a nice guy, but you don’t really know me enough to say that.”

He can’t argue with that. Robin’s the one he knows the least. Every time he’s seen her, it’s with everyone else, during their game “nights” almost every Sunday afternoon. He doesn’t really know her, and this is definitely awkward for both of them, but he’s not deterred.

“You wanna talk about it?” He tries.

She lolls her head over to peek up at him. “I want to fix it. But she’s not answering my calls, she’s not at work —”

The waitress that took Jonathan’s order returns. “This about Kali?” 

Robin sits up. “Yes. Oh my god, Carol, do you know where she is, do you —”

“Can you calm down for two seconds,” Carol says flatly. She slides Jonathan’s coffee and his muffin over the counter. “She’s out. With Heather.”

Robin’s face falls. “When you say out —”

“If you ask me,” Carol says, Jonathan already wincing, “it’s been a long time coming. I’m actually happy for those two lovebirds. And very surprised she didn’t tell you.”

Robin lets out another groan and hides her face in her hands again.

Carol opens her mouth. Closes it. Then walks away.

And he kind of already thought he knew before, but now, he definitely does.

“You should tell her,” he suggests.

“She’s in love with Heather.”

“They’re on _one_ date. And it might not even be a might. It could just be two friends hanging out.”

“Carol just said —”

“You’re going to trust Carol?”

Robin spreads her fingers and peers at Jonathan through the gaps in them. “You don’t even know Carol.”

“I don’t, but I mean. Come on. What does Carol know, right?” He’s so full of shit, but it’s enough to make Robin laugh, even if the sound is as wet as her eyes.

He passes her a napkin. She accepts it with a sniffand dabs the corner of her eyes.

“It’s dumb,” Robin starts to say. “I don’t get to be _upset _over this because I didn’t just buck the fuck up and ask her out myself.”

“_That’s_ dumb,” he says softly. You can be upset about it.”

She lowers the napkin into her lap and crumples it up. She begins tearing it apart, her blue eyes wide and clear as they dig into Jonathan’s. “Y’know, Steve would give me pep talks and try to make me feel better. Nance would tell me to just get up and tell her how I feel. What advice are you gonna give?”

He takes the first sip of his coffee, relishing in the burn down his throat. “I think no advice from me. You’ve got solid advice from Nance, cheering up from Steve. Maybe — maybe I can just be your shoulder to lean on. You vent, I listen.”

“I can be the same for you,” she says quietly. “With your raging crushes on —”

“Oh my god, am I that obvious!?”

Robin smiles for the first time. It’s both sharp and soft and it makes him smile back. “Yes, you are, it’s disgusting the way you look at them. Also disgusting the way they look back at you.”

He immediately crushes the seed of hope in his chest before it grows and flourishes. “You don’t have to say that.”

“Oh, so you _are _an idiot. Good to know.”

“Aren’t you one to talk when you’re here, moaning about how you’ve ruined your chances with Kali when she so obviously feels the same way about you.”

“You’re just saying that because I told you that Steve and Nance obviously have feelings for you!”

“And _you’re _just saying that — oh, why are we yelling?”

She ducks her head. “You started it,” she whisper-shouts, jabbing her finger into his shoulder.

“_You _did.” He scans her face, her pink cheeks, her dried tears. “Robin?”

“Yeah?”

“I really do think she feels the same way about you.”

“Jonathan?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared. If she doesn’t feel the same way, then it’s over. I lose my best friend and my circle of friends. We wouldn’t be able to recover from this.”

Jonathan tentatively touches her wrist. “What if there wouldn’t be anything to recover from?”

She sniffs again, louder, and grabs his hand. Hers is cold but fits perfectly into his as she squeezes hard enough that he winces. Not that he minds. He can take it. “I hate feelings. They’re so fucking stupid.”

He barks out a shocked laugh. “I know, right?”

“So can we acknowledge your feelings now?” 

It’s Jonathan’s turn to groan and face-plant into the counter. “My situation is very different from yours. They’re already in love with other people — _each other. _They’re toegther!”

“So? Dude. C’mon. I’ve seen those idiots in love. I was there when they fell for each other. It was gross. Much like this.”

“Do I thank you for saying that?”

“My point is that I know what they look like when they’re falling in love, and trust me, idiot —” She nudges his muffin towards him and pats his back. “Right now? They’re falling. Just not for each other this time.”

“But still,” he continues helplessly, “it’s only been a few months. How well can you really know someone in that amount of time? My thing is just a stupid, hopeless crush.”

“Bullshit,” Robin says indignantly. “So what that it’s only been a few months? What you feel, _and what they feel in return, _is still real. Trust your heart, dude. And trust me.”

Robin’s words wrap around him like a warm and thick comforter, one that no matter how much adjusting you do, you still can’t get yourself comfortable. “The thing is, I just. I can’t believe you.” He avoids looking at her by peeling the wrapper of his muffin with shaky fingers.

“Well, that’s fair, because I can’t believe you either. Looks like we’re at an impasse.”

“Cheers to that. But it’ll be fine, right?”

“Oh, what the fuck do I know.” Robin stands and calls for Carol. “You guys serve alcohol here, right?”

From across the other side of the cafe, Carol yells back, “You know we fucking don’t!”

It’s nearly nine pm. The sun has long since set, and out the window, the sky has darkened, the roads quiet. Hawk’s Cafe is empty, save for the elderly man at the table that Carol’s serving. His mouth hangs open but he doesn’t say anything when Carol asks for the rest of his order. There’s more reading to do, and a machine that he _knows _in his gut is in the cabin to find.

But there’s also the rest of his coffee to drink, his muffin to eat, and a friend to talk to.

Jonathan nudges his muffin towards Robin. “It’s not alcohol, but.”

“Oh, shut up.” She rolls her eyes, but she’s also laughing.

He laughs despite himself and how goddamn weird everything is. They laugh some more, both tearing bits of the muffin out to chew.

She bumps her foot against his. “I gotta say, Nance and Steve were right.”

“Hmm?” He straightens in his seat, belatedly bumping his foot against her back.

“When they met you, they told me that the new photographer in town was really nice, the perfect addition to our group.”

“They said that?”

“And you think they don’t like you.”

“Ah, yes,” Jonathan says dryly. “How’d I not know when they called me _nice._”

“Would you just _trust _me on this?” A mischievous glint catches her eyes. She grabs the wrapper for the muffin, crumples it up, and tosses it at him.

He manages to dodge it, but he also manages to fall out of his seat in doing so. He considers it a win: he still avoided getting hit by the wrapper and got Robin to laugh so hard she shortly fell out of her seat, too. 

.

.

.

November ends as quickly as it had started. 

Not much changes. Work slows down, so Jonathan gets more time on his hands to play with Freddie, have longer game nights and Friday dinners, and search every inch of the cabin for something. They come up short, unable to find a lead with the location of the rest of the journals and how to find the portal in the cabin, but they’re not any less hopeful. It might be faster to just take a wrecking ball to the entire place but they risk damaging the portal and killing them all. There _has _to be a secret passageway somewhere. It can’t be a bad sign that it’s taking them a while to find it. That’s only a given with geniuses like Alexei.

Murray’s certainly in a better mood. He’s brighter in the office, even singlehandedly puts up decorations for the holidays all by himself. He puts an ugly, reindeer-shaped gnome on Jonathan’s desk in the middle of a December with a wink. It makes Jonathan wonder if gnomes hibernate and then he gets very worried about Ted until Joyce calls his work number to chat.

Meanwhile, Kali starts spending more time with Heather. Which. _Yeah._

“How is she late to these things when she _works _here?” Robin grunts. “Go fish.”

“It is badly snowing,” Nancy says, drawing a card. 

“She’ll be here,” Steve reassures. 

“D’ya have a four, dingus?” 

Steve winces. “I don’t want to say no because you’re sad, so is it cheating if I —”

“Yes,” Nancy and Jonathan say.

Jonathan slides his four across the table to Robin. “So — I mean, we all know, right? It’s already in the open?”

Nancy’s eyes widen. She slaps her cards onto the table. “It _is! _Finally! Alright, let me ask the boys what they think: is Kali’s thing with Heather serious?”

“No!” Steve and Jonathan reply.

Robin throws her head back. “You don’t _know _that.”

“Kali Prasad is my best friend,” Nancy says fiercely. “I do know. Just. Talk. To. Her.”

“While she’s dating someone else?” Robin counters.

Nancy has no reply to that.

Steve, meanwhile, does. “Yes!”

Nancy rolls her eyes and shoots her husband a pointed look. “No, Steve, no!”

“Why not? Robs has known Kali for longer and what _they _have is — it’s the real shit.”

“Stop swearing in front of Athena!”

Jonathan’s eyebrows furrow. “Nance, Athena’s not here. She’s with your mom, remember?”

Nancy’s cards fall onto her lap. She looks around then sinks back into the booth upon not finding Athena in the Cafe. “I’m losing my mind. Holy shit.”

“Aw, babe.” Steve takes her cards out of her lap and sets them onto the table. He laces their fingers. “You’re just tired. Extra shifts at work do that to you.”

She pinches him. “I told you that your passive-aggressiveness isn’t cute. And you know why I had to take that shift last night! I’m keeping this town _safe —”_

“Shit, Nance, what happened last night?” Robin asks.

“Confidential,” Nancy blurts.

“Steve gets to know?” 

“Steve just knows it’s unsafe.”

“You said _you know why —”_

“As in he knows it’s unsafe! Why are you making an overwhelmed young mother even more overwhelmed?”

Robin narrows her eyes. “Sometimes I forget why we hated each other freshman year. And then I remember.”

“You two hated each other?” Jonathan says.

Nancy chuckles, leaning back against Steve. “She was the worst.”

“Nance, I love you, but definitely not the gigantic stick you had up your ass back then.” Robin smiles sardonically at Nancy’s extended middle finger.

Jonathan grins. “So how did you guys end up liking each other?”

Steve points to himself. “One could say I brought our group of friends together.”

“And one would be wrong,” Robin says. “Steve and I were best friends. Kali and Nancy were best friends. These two started dating so all four of us were pushed into each other’s lives. Kali and I clicked. Kali and Steve clicked. Nance and I ...”

“Took longer because Robin was a stubborn bitch,” Nancy says. “It’s my favourite thing about her.”

“I was not a stubborn bitch,” Robin protests, “because I still _am.”_

Steve beams at both women before continuing the explanation. “Six months pass. It’s starting to get obvious that Nance and I have a real thing going on. Kali and I agree to get these two to stop bickering and to actually _talk _to each other and realize how, like, totally cool they both are. So naturally, after we talk to them, it takes another three months for them to stop harassing each other.”

“So if it wasn’t you two talking to them that did it, then what was?” Jonathan asks.

Robin and Nancy look at each other. They burst into laughter.

Steve scowls. “We went to Hawkins Lake after our last exam, freshman year. They both pushed me into the water at the same time. Complete coincidence. They started cracking up and got distracted, so Kali, god bless her soul, pushed them in. And the rest is history.”

Jonathan smiles. He opens his mouth to comment on the story but closes it when the bell attached to the front door rings.

Kali’s laughter, followed by Heather’s, floats in the air. Her nose and face are bitten red from the harsh wind. Kali spots their table, waves, and starts walking towards them, but Heather tugs on Kali’s scarf and reels her back in for a kiss.

“Robs —” Steve says.

Robin shakes her head. “Don’t.”

Steve pushes his uneaten cupcake towards her. Nancy grabs Robin’s hand. Jonathan passes her a napkin to break apart.

Kali finally makes her way to their table, sans Heather, thankfully. “Hey guys, sorry I’m late.”

“Had a nice date?” Robin asks, her smile strained.

Kali shrugs as she unwinds her scarf around her neck. “’S alright. We just grabbed brunch. Certainly not as much fun as kicking your ass at — what is this, Go Fish?”

“I’m winning,” Steve says.

“I’m calling bullshit.”

“He actually is,” Jonathan says. “I know, I’m appalled, too.”

“And _I’m_ somehow losing!” Nancy says.

Kali laughs. “Damn, how much did I miss?” She shimmies into the side of the booth that Jonathan and Robin are seated in.

“Not much,” Robin says.

Kali smiles at her, unwrapping her scarf, and all the unease in Robin’s face drains. When Robin smiles back, it reaches her eyes.

“_Psst.”_

Jonathan looks up. “Yes, Steve?”

“I have the eight you need!”

“You’re cheating,_” _Nancy says, nose slightly scrunched. “And doubting Jonathan’s ability to win.”

“You’re just salty that I won’t give you the two you want,” Steve counters.

Nancy gasps. “You _do _have it, you asshole!”

“Don’t you mean ash-hole? What happened to cutting out swear-words for the sake of our daughter?”

“All bets are off since my husband is a cheating dick ... whom I love very much.”

Steve laughs as he raises his hands to frame her face while Nancy yanks him forward by the collar of his shirt. They giggle into the kiss and giggle after they pull away, worse than a pair of lovestruck teens. 

“I think you’re very smart,” Nancy tells Jonathan. “I just defended your honour. Really.”

Jonathan bites back a smile. His face warms under their combined gazes. “I thank you both for your kindness.”

He’s aware that he’s very screwed and that he’s so gone for them and that this isn’t going to end well for him.

But hey. At least he knows where his eight is now.

.

.

.

“I hate paperwork so I’m done now,” Nancy declares. With a glare, she closes the file she’d been scribbling in and pushes it to the corner of the table out of her line of vision. The lines in her face smooth over when she looks at Jonathan who sits across from her, a small smile spreading across her lips. “You done your work?”

He stops his fifteenth reread of the same line and looks up, smiling back at Nancy. “Oh. Yeah. I actually finished fifteen minutes ago. Wanted to make it look like I was still working so you’d feel motivated to.”

Underneath the table, she kicks him lightly, puffing out an incredulous laugh. “I can’t believe you.”

“But it helped, though! Didn’t it?”

“_Yes. _I’m usually so focussed but I had a better focus and just _worked _better before Athena and —” She heaves a sigh, gripping her hair with a frustrated groan. He nudges her coffee towards her and she downs the last half of it. “That sounded terrible.”

“It really didn’t.”

“I love my daughter.”

“I know you do.”

“Things are just different now.”

“Of course.”

“It’s ... hard,” Nancy says with a tired smile. She slouches on her side of the booth, shoulders slumping. She rubs at the bags underneath her eyes. “I knew it would be difficult but I thought I could handle it like I can handle everything. That I’d be tougher than any challenge I’ve faced. It’s not parenting her that’s the challenge, it’s parenting her _and _working and being amazing at both. Steve’s the best dad, and she’s taken care of, but as her mom I just ... I feel like _shit _that he’s there more than I am and that I can’t be everything for her.” Her chin trembles, her blue eyes watery. She rests both hands on the table, hands clenched around the edge until her knuckles whiten.

Without thinking about it, he gently covers her hands with his. He carefully pries her fingers off the table’s edge and strokes his thumb over hers. He looks at Nancy and thinks of his own mother, how she wasn’t everything but she gave them everything and he and Will still felt loved all the same. “It sucks,” he agrees morosely, squeezing her hand. “But you’re doing your best. Kids notice the effort. You’re doing great, Nance. Let yourself adjust and let yourself be not amazing until you figure this out. Because you are tougher than this. She’s real lucky to have you.”

Nancy laughs wetly. One tear drips down her face. Within a blink of an eye, she’s completely crying, pink-nosed and sniffing. “Thank you, Jonathan.” Rather than let go of his hands, she gives him a squeeze and manages to wipe her face with her shoulders. “Don’t know if I can still blame my hormones on this, but.”

“It’s okay.” He smiles, relieved at the small chuckle she lets out. “I don’t mean to pry but ... have you talked to Steve about this? I don’t want to meddle but since we talked about this a few months ago I just —”

“We’re talking,” she says with a rush of pride that he knows means it’s the truth. “Trying to, at least. Communication has never been our forte but we’re very determined. When we got pregnant, our parents and old classmates and our coworkers were sure we wouldn’t last, that we’d get divorced within a year, be awful parents. We decided we’d prove them wrong. That sort of sounds like we’re only together to prove those assholes wrong, but —”

“You two are so in love that it’s sickening. Don’t worry. I know. Anyone with a pair of eyes knows that you two are in love. I’m glad to hear that you two are working on it.”

She softens. Her grip on his hands loosens but she doesn’t let go, her thumb curling around his. “Yeah. Thank you. For everything, the pretending to work so I’d be more motivated to, for the advice, for all of it. I have no idea what you get out of this but —”

“Are you kidding? You’re my friend,” Jonathan says firmly only to blush once several patrons turn to look at him. In a lower voice, he continues, “You’ve made me feel at home here. _You’ve _given me advice, company, _more _friends, made me laugh, made me think ...” His blush only worsens. What the fuck. He takes in a deep breath, allowing the diner’s buzz, the clatter of forks against plates, and the squeaks of the stools at the front to calm him down. “I get a lot out of this.”

Nancy hums thoughtfully. She stands abruptly, scooting out of her side of the booth only to scoot into his. He doesn’t question her, doesn’t have the capability to do anything other than shift over so she can squeeze in. “Still,” she says, stopping only when their knees are pressed together, “Tell me something. Anything. I vented to you so you vent to me.”

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

“Am not!”

“Do something so that I can help.”

“Under that logic, isn’t this ultimately helping you so you feel better — hey!” He shrieks out a laugh when her forefinger sharply jabs into his stomach. He doesn’t even care that even more patrons are eyeing them now, glaring at him and Nancy over their evening cups of coffee. He’s just painfully ticklish and cannot afford for Nancy to find out. Who knows what she’d do with that information? 

Okay, well, obviously she’d tickle him relentlessly but he doesn’t want _that_. 

“I wanna be a good friend to you. Tell me anything and I’ll listen.” She props her elbow up on the table, leaning her cheek against her head. Her expression is painfully open and earnest and looking at her makes him ache. She’s close, has him almost backed up against the wall. All he can see is her. All he can ever see is her and her dork of a husband and the ball of light that is their daughter and it’s ridiculous that _that _is more pressing of a problem than the missing scientist he has to find.

But he can’t tell her about either of that. 

Still, he picks something honest to tell her. It’s those blue eyes of hers. It’s impossible not to do anything she’d ask of him when she’s looking at him like that.

“I’ve always been close to my family,” he starts. And just keeps talking.

He’s never been much of a talker. He doesn’t ramble about anything let alone how much he misses his family but needs to be independent of them and have a life outside of them and how much his dad messed him up and —

Whoa. How’d he get _that _deep in his shit-storm of issues?

“Am I actually talking about my deadbeat dad to you? And are you — are you crying again?”

“No.” She wipes her cheeks with the sleeves of her sweatshirt. “You and your family deserved _so _much better. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. You didn’t do anything wrong.” His throat is dry from all this talking but his back feels insurmountably lighter, all from his babbling and her just listening. Understanding. Caring. 

She takes his hand again and does what he’d done to her — strokes her thumb over his, light touches that ground him back to the universe. “Still. I can be sorry about something someone else did. Give you the apology you haven’t gotten but damn well deserve. I ... I have no idea what you’re going through but I see you. You’re valid. Always valid.”

He doesn’t quite understand why her words make as much room in his constricted chest as it does, but god does it help. “Thank you?”

“It’s something Steve and I are trying. Neutral statements for when we don’t know what to say. Not negative, not positive, not dismissive. It’s kinda robotic but it helps. You like hugs?”

His skin suddenly sparks, the brightest where she’s touching him. His hands, his knee, his left foot against her right. He manages to breathe out, “Who doesn’t?”

Her mouth tugs into a smile. “Me. At least until I met Steve and Robin and their affectionate ways spread to me and Kali. Want a hug?”

He musters a nod. They’re already close so in less than a second, her head’s tucked against his shoulder, his cheek leaned against the side of her head, and their arms slotted around each other. He could almost cry with how nice it feels, just to have her arms around him, but he doesn’t want to think his tears are sad when they’re anything but. So he just breathes in the scent of her green apple shampoo, closes his eyes, and melts into her embrace.

It’s strange, how public this is, in the middle of Hawkins’ most-known cafe, and how little he cares about it. Everything about this town is strange, from his life with a career in what he loves and actual friends and the loveliest child in the world and a purpose that’s not just ‘get through the day’. Everything about this town is strange and that’s what he loves most about it.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into her hair.

“Shut up. You’re my friend. Don’t thank me.”

“Okay. You’re not thanked.“

“And you’re not welcome.” She holds him tighter, and it’s so easy to just let himself be held in the strong arms of Nancy Wheeler.

“Ooh, group-hug? Can I join?”

Jonathan’s eyes fly open. He wants to get as far apart from Nancy as possible because there’s no way Steve’s not being sarcastic. Except here Steve is, out of breath like he’d ran inside the cafe instead of walking, which knowing him, he probably did. His face is lifted into a big goofy smile, arms spread out like he’s serious.

Upon further consideration, Jonathan now realizes that Steve’s serious.

“C’mere, babe,” Nancy says, her voice muffled by Jonathan’s shoulder. She and Jonathan manage to scoot to the very end of the booth without disentangling.

“Hi, Steve.” Jonathan smiles weakly up at Steve. Something about it must be wrong because Steve frowns, his hand darting out so quickly towards Jonathan’s face that Jonathan flinches.

But Steve’s just gently touching Jonathan’s cheek. “What’s wrong? Why were you crying?” Steve folds into their side of the booth. His other hand rubs along Nancy’s knee, soothing and slow motions, while his other remains on Jonathan’s cheek, so tender that Jonathan could cry. Or at least cry again, apparently.

“Was I crying?” Jonathan’s voice sounds clogged, his eyes prickly, and oh. He was crying. 

Nancy’s hold on him only tightens. “Crying is a perfectly reasonable and healthy way to express your emotions.”

Steve lights up. “That’s a line from the book you wanted me to read! The one about new parenting and how to overcome the emotional weight of it!”

Jonathan can’t see Nancy’s face but he hears the awe in her voice as she says, “You _read _it?”

“Yeah! You asked and since you’re stressed, I figured ... are you surprised?”

“Only a little. Just because you’re busy. Mostly, I’m happy. Really happy.” Nancy burrows her face closer towards Jonathan’s neck. He feels her smile against his skin. 

“I’m happy for you both,” Jonathan tries to say neutrally, but it comes out choked up, and oh, wow, he’s crying even more. Why’s he crying so much? No one’s looking at them save for Heather. She gives them a curious look from behind the counter as she tears out a page in her note-pad but even that doesn’t look judgemental. Almost like she’s concerned, worried for these near-strangers. 

“You don’t sound very happy,” Steve says cheerily. Jonathan wonders if it’s his teacher voice but before he can ask, Steve’s taking his vest off and sliding into their booth. His long arms wind around both Jonathan and Nancy. He smells fresh, like cleaned fruit, and Jonathan clings to the smell. It’s almost too much, squeezed in between both Nancy and Steve, but they’re so warm and strong and they’re holding him like he’s something precious and suddenly Jonathan doesn’t _care _that he has no chance with them, because he’s their friends and that’s an honour he’ll always wear with pride. 

“But that’s okay.” Steve’s voice drops to a murmur. “We’ll make you happy soon enough. Right, Nance?”

“Mhm, honey.” Nancy reaches around Jonathan and runs her fingers through Steve’s hair. “Athena’s with my mom?”

“Yup. Gonna pick her up soon. You free, Jonathan? We’re gonna take a walk. She hasn’t been out in the snow for long so it’s like her first time in the snow. We’ll be quick.”

Jonathan’s heart squeezes. “It’d be an honour. I’ll bring my camera. We’ll take pictures.”

“Awesome. When do you wanna go?”

“Not now,” Nancy says. “In a minute.”

Jonathan quietly agrees. All he can feel is them, solid and secure and _there _with him. A table away, Heather takes the order of an old married couple. The front door’s bell chimes with the arrival of a new customer. A Christmas carol plays over the radio. Outside, the snowfall softens, snowflakes painting the cafe’s window. 

.

.

.

Karen Wheeler is aggressively friendly. Her kitchen is the complete opposite of Joyce’s back home: neat, covered in decor like the glass apple full of butterscotch candies, a dust-free floor and countertop, plates neatly lined up, and a batch of freshly-baked brownies on the counter. Inside, the fridge is organized but every inch of the outside is covered by dozens of photos. That’s the only thing that reminds him of back home and it makes his heart pang, just a little. Karen’s not really like Joyce outside of that and the bone-crushing hug she pulls Jonathan into.

“It’s so nice to meet you! Nancy’s told me _so much _about you.”

Jonathan can’t help but glance at Nancy over Karen’s shoulder, sort of stunned.

Her shoulders hunch up to her ears as she bites into a brownie. “Not _so much.” _Right, Athena?” Athena slaps Nancy’s brownie out of her hands. It falls apart on the tiled-floor. “Well. Don’t take that as her answer.”

“She talks about you a lot.” Karen pulls back and smiles at Jonathan before she turns towards the pieces of brownies on the floor. Steve beats her to it.

“I’ve got it, Mrs. Wheeler.”

“Steven, how many times do I have to tell you? It’s Karen.”

Steve chuckles as he scoops the brownie bits into his palm. “Sorry, Mrs. Karen Wheeler.” It’s so painfully charming, earning him a fond eye-roll from Karen and a kiss to his cheek from Nancy. 

Jonathan chuckles. He grabs two brownies and crosses the kitchen to join Nancy, Steve, and Athena by the sink. He gives one to Steve, one to Nancy.

“You didn’t have to get me one,” Steve says while Nancy insists, “Split mine with me.”

“You’re both ridiculous. Just eat ‘em.” Jonathan bumps his shoulder against Steve’s, reaches over him to nudge Nancy’s brownie closer to her. “Right, Athena? Aren’t they being ridiculous?”

Athena copies him. Her chubby fingers push Nancy’s hand while her hat-covered head tilts to the side.

“That’s a nod!” Jonathan laughs. “She agrees with me.”

“Traitor.” Steve pretends to glare but he gives in a second later, making their trademark high-pitched noise. Athena parrots it back and they’re off, babbling away.

Karen slips her pink apron off of her and rolls it up. “You two are so strange.”

“They are strange,” Nancy says fondly, holding Athena up so she can screech directly in front of Steve’s face. “My strange, perfect family.”

Jonathan wishes he had his camera but he’d left it in his car. This image, Steve and Athena going back and forth with their high-pitched noises, Steve’s arm around Nancy’s waist, Nancy beaming at them both — it makes for the perfect picture. But he supposed it’s just as good as a memory on its own.

“Make the sound, Nance,” Steve urges.

Nancy clears her throat. “Give me a second. I gotta do it as great as you two.”

“You will,” Jonathan says. “You’ve got this.”

She makes the high-pitched noise. Jonathan and Steve explode with cheers, Jonathan clapping, Steve smacking a kiss on Nancy’s forehead. Athena smushes her face against Nancy’s neckline, giggling uncontrollably.

Nancy bows as best as she can with Athena in her grasp. “Jonathan, it’s your turn.”

Steve claps his hand over Jonathan’s back. “Let’s do it, man. C’mon.”

Athena makes grabby hands towards Jonathan. 

And he has a heart, so there isn’t a flicker of hesitation. He cups his hands around his mouth, bends a little so he’s eye-to-eye with Athena, and makes a high-pitched sound.

He can’t help the stupid smile that brightens his face as they all cheer for him. Karen’s right. They’re the strangest family — Nancy shouts, “Groundbreaking! Award-winning! Revolutionary!” Steve shakes Jonathan’s shoulder like Jonathan’s won a game. And Athena continues the high-pitched noises, her lyrical laughter crackling over it. 

But Nancy’s also right. They’re perfect.

As Jonathan makes the sound again, Karen removes a fluffy pink jacket draped over a seat at the dining table. She steps into it, shaking head at them, but her slight smile doesn’t go unnoticed. “Can you let yourself out? I need to pick up Michael.”

“Mom,” Nancy says, flushed from all the laughter. “Let him stay out a little longer. It’s only four. Lucas will drop him off.”

“It’s not safe out with the snow, Nancy.”

“Mom, he can handle it.”

“I’m not taking any risks.”

“He’s going to fight you on it.”

Karen zips her jacket up. Her smile weakens, turning strained. “He can try his best. But I’m not relenting. Besides, all three of you have given me much preparation at fighting back. Lock the door on your way out.” She half-jogs across the kitchen and presses a kiss against Athena’s hairline. “Goodbye, my lovely little angel.” 

She quickly hugs all of them, even Jonathan who barely has enough time to hug her back. He does have time to thank her for the brownies and tell her it was nice meeting her.

They’re quiet as Karen walks out of the kitchen and to the front door and out. The door creaks shut.

Just to break the silence, Jonathan says, “She’s protective of your brother, huh?” 

Steve and Nancy exchange a look. It’s heavy, carrying an entire conversation that Jonathan can’t understand, not with the years they’ve had in perfecting this language of theirs, so his gaze lowers to Athena. Her toes twitch. One of her socks has fallen on the floor.

He bends to pick it up and gently rolls it over her foot. Her hand shoots out and fists into his hair but she doesn’t pull. Her skin is soft, touch gentle. Not for the first time today, Jonathan feels lucky. 

When he stands back to full height, he finds both Nancy and Steve staring at him. It’s not the first time they’ve looked at him like this with this open, almost starstruck expression. Nancy’s eyes are bluer and brighter. Steve’s mouth isn’t smiling but his eyes are. It usually lasts a second but this one stretches through time. It picks up his heartbeat, makes his palms sweaty despite how cold they’d gotten on his way inside the Wheeler home, and turns him hyper-aware of every breath he takes. Electricity pulses through him. Do they feel it too?

“Hng,” Athena mumbles. Her foot shoots out and hits Steve’s wrist. Just like that, whatever air the past few seconds had built between them, both serene and tense, shatters. 

Steve clears his throat. “Right, uh. Yeah, She’s pretty protective of Mike. No one blames her but it’s hard. Mike wants to be treated like an adult and she just wants him safe.”

Jonathan nods, despite the obvious lack of information he has. Steve doesn’t seem to notice but Nancy does.

“I haven’t told you, have I?” Nancy wraps her arms closer around Athena. She inhales the back of Athena’s head, her eyes briefly closing as if to savour this moment like it could be the last. Athena’s tiny fist raises and trails down Nancy’s face. Nancy’s eyes flick open and her smile is achingly endeared. 

“My brother —” Her voice breaks. Steve rubs her arm and leans his head against hers.

“It’s okay, Nance,” Jonathan says. “It’s okay.” 

He sees it then. One blink and Nancy’s steeled herself, jaw tightened, chin up, shoulders down, her voice flat. It’s terrifying but it’s mostly admirable. “My brother went missing for a week when he was twelve.” 

Everything comes to a halt. The centre of his gravity shifts that it feels like he’s lost balance but he hasn’t. He glances at Steve, hoping he had somehow misunderstood, but the lost look in Steve’s eyes only confirms it.

“Nancy,” Jonathan says uselessly. He gives up on saying something because he won’t have something to say that no one’s already told her. He just touches her shoulder, hopes his slight squeeze is comforting. 

Like Will and Nancy, Nancy’s brother is eight years younger than hers. Nancy would’ve been twenty. This was only five years ago.

“He was held in a basement,” Nancy continues monotonously. She keeps her gaze on Athena who meets her mother’s eyes, and the way she eases, just a bit, with Athena in her grasp, Steve’s arm around her, and Jonathan’s hand still on her shoulder, makes him believe, or at least hope, that this is all grounding for her. “He ... he was starved and just kept there with nothing to do. The guy, some old man named Martin Brenner, took him and kept him there. Who knows how much longer he would’ve been stuck there if Brenner hadn’t died on the last day? Just collapsed down the basement stairs from a heart attack. As soon as he died, Mike broke out from the literal fucking chains he was kept in and ran out for help. No one knows why it happened. There was no trial or anything so once Mike came home, it was the end of it.”

The thought of Will, gone for a week, locked in a cage in a monster’s basement, starved and isolated and in danger, intrudes his mind and makes him sick. His stomach violently lurches. Before he can think it over, he spits out, “I’m glad he’s dead.”

“Me too,” Nancy says calmly. 

“Mike went to therapy for a bit after that,” Steve says. “He’s gotten the help he needs. It’s a bit hard now, trying to get the freedom that teens crave when it scares Karen, but he’s a good kid. He’s gonna be fine.”

Jonathan’s focus drifts back to the fridge. He zeroes in on a picture of Nancy and what must be Mike. They’re standing in a football field, people dispersed around them, on a bright and sunny day. She’s dressed in a blue graduation gown, holding her brother close, fist poised next to his head like she’s about to noogie him. A ‘CLASS OF 2012′ sticker is slapped onto his forehead. They’re laughing, even as his elbow’s raised inches away from her stomach. 

He does the math. She must’ve been eighteen and him only ten. Two years before it happened. 

“You guys look alike,” Jonathan says softly.

“That’s an insult to me,” Nancy teases but the private smile that spreads across her lips as she follows his line of vision and eyes the same photo says otherwise.

.

.

.

Athena looks like a marshmallow. She’s wrapped up in her tiny white jacket, an orange and woollen hat pulled over her brown hair, and a darker orange scarf draped around her neck.

They’re all in the kitchen back at Nancy and Steve’s place. They’d gone back to change Athena and prepare for their walk. Steve’s packing snacks in Athena’s duffel bag. Nancy’s searching every corner of the kitchen for Mr. Bear, who she swears they left in here. Meanwhile, Jonathan’s helping Athena put her mittens back on, but she keeps snatching her hands away every time he gets close.

“You gotta distract her,” Steve advises. He grabs several juice-boxes that Jonathan guesses are for them, not Athena, and sweeps them into the bag.

“She really likes it when you say her name in a funny voice,” Nancy adds. She reaches blindly on top of the fridge, groping the space with frustrated huffs.

“Babe, why would it be on the top of the fridge?” Steve asks.

“Found it in the fridge once.”

“Was that me or you?”

“Is it bad that I can’t remember?”

“Probably.” Steve presses a kiss to Nancy’s forehead as she brushes past him to check the pantry.

“It was Nancy,” Jonathan says under his breath. “Athena, A-_the-_na, Ath-e-na, Aye — hey! There we go. One mitten down.”

“You remember that I left it in the fridge?” Nancy says. She stops searching, looking awestruck at Jonathan.

“You told us the story the next day during game evening.” Jonathan dangles the other mitten in front of Athena’s face, suppresses a laugh when she reaches out to grab it. “‘Course I’d remember that.”

“Game evening is not sticking.” Nancy grunts as she closes the pantry. “Goddammit. I’m the Sheriff. I can find a stupid bear.”

“Hey. You’re a good Sheriff. And also,” Jonathan says, covering Athena’s ears. “Don’t let her hear you say that.”

Nancy catches his gaze. She pointedly rolls her eyes, but her mouth curves upwards. “She’s wearing earmuffs.”

Jonathan tugs Athena’s hat, only to reveal said earmuffs, purple with pink stripes. “All this winter gear weighs more than she does.”

“Do you know what a sick baby is like?” Steve asks. He closes the fridge door and slings the duffel over his back, crossing the few inches between Jonathan and him. He sits atop the dining table next to Athena, one hand on her arm.

Nancy seemingly gives up on finding Mr. Bear and sits on Athena’s other side. She covers the hand Steve has on Athena’s arm with her own. “We get really scared when she’s sick. Don’t wanna risk it again.”

“Yeah, of course,” Jonathan says earnestly. “I get it. It seems scary.”

Nancy caresses Athena’s head with one hand and cups her cheek with the other.

“So let’s do mommy, daddy, and Jonathan a favour by letting us get your mitts on, okay, baby?” Steve says, his voice gentle.

"No.”

For a second, no one moves. Everything seems to fall silent — the wind rustling outside, the radio’s remix of Jingle Bells, the squeak of Jonathan’s chair.

Everything including Athena.

Nancy’s hands fly to her mouth. Steve nearly falls off the counter. Jonathan — Jonathan’s still holding Athena’s mitten, but he’s not stunned to the point where his brain short-circuits. This is a moment Nancy and Steve will want, forever, and he can give it to them. He rustles through his pocket, grabs his phone, and just starts recording, ensuring that both of Athena’s parents are in the shot like they should be. He forces himself to ignore how tilted his phone is and how shitty the lighting is. All that matters is Athena, Nancy, and Steve. It’s an easy thought to follow.

“I love you,” Nancy says, dazed. She hops off the counter and bends until she’s eye-level with Athena. “Oh my god, I love you so much.”

Steve squats next to Nancy. “Can you say it again? Please?” His eyes well up as he laughs uncontrollably.

Jonathan steps back, makes sure he gets everyone in the shot.

Athena’s mitten-covered hands flap in the air.

Nancy absentmindedly offers Athena her hand. “Is this what you want?”

Athena slaps their palms together and says, “No!”

They all laugh and kind of cry and keep asking ridiculous questions for her to say no to.

“Athena,” Jonathan coos, waving for her attention. “You just said your _first _word! How does it feel?”

She giggles. It’s the second-best thing he’s ever heard. The first, of course, is Athena’s delighted _no!_

“Nance!” Steve spreads his arms.

Nancy leaps onto him, wrapping her legs around his waist. Her arms slot around his shoulders. She peppers kisses up and down the side of his face as Steve holds her, tightly, and chants, “No! No! No!”

Jonathan zooms in on their faces until Steve presses his lips against Nancy’s. He quickly refocusses on Athena. 

“Big day, huh?” He bends to meet her eyes, his free hand on her back. “You still wanna go for that walk in the park?”

Athena kicks the air. “Yes!”

Which makes them all cheer and laugh and cry and lose their shit all over again. 

.

.

.

After that perfect evening, you can imagine Jonathan’s dismay when he returns to the cabin to the sight of the gnomes in his living room, surrounding an enlarged Freddie.

Ted steps forward, arms crossed, head shaking. “We are disappointed.”

“I am vaguely terrified.” Jonathan unzips his jacket, warily eyeing the fourteen gnomes glaring at him, and the fifteenth one, content on Freddie’s back. “What’s up?”

“What’s _up _is that there is a shapeshifter running around town that you haven’t stopped! And you’ve domesticated an animal meant for the woods!”

“Freddie is a dog!” Jonathan spares a glance at Freddie tilting his head up and poking the ceiling with his nose. “Mostly! He’s mostly a dog!”

“He’s a good boy, that’s for sure,” the gnome on top of Freddie says.

Ted hisses. “Shh! He _is _a good boy, but you can’t lock him up in here!”

“I take him for walks,” Jonathan protests weakly. “And are you more concerned about the dog or about the shapeshifter?”

Ted’s eyes flash. “And the shapeshifter!”

Jonathan plops onto the sofa. “Oh god.”

“It’s still on the loose!” A gnome in the back shouts. The others nod and grumble.

“We have a lot on our plate,” Jonathan says. “It’s not an excuse, but it’s an explanation. We’re sorry, okay? Finding Alexei is much harder than we anticipated it’d be.”

“That’s not an excuse!” One gnome yells.

“I know. I said it’s not.”

“You need to try harder!”

“Definitely.”

Ted sighs. “We really wanted to have to threaten you more. Winter is terribly boring.”

“I noticed a lot of monsters are ... absent. Less crying ghosts, zombies, and gnomes trying to kill us.”

“That was one time,” a gnome that Jonathan _thinks _is named Tina.

“It seemed liked it was about to be two,” Jonathan says. The heat in the cabin burns through all of his layers of clothing, so he removes his jacket and drapes it across the sofa. “So, do they hibernate?”

“You could say that,” Ted says. “Expect a peaceful winter. No monsters to annoy you!”

“But you guys aren’t hibernating.”

“We aren’t monsters.”

“Hm. Okay. Whatever you say. So, uh, when do the monsters return?”

Ted turns around. The gnomes share looks, shrugging at one another. “Maybe March?” the gnome closest to Ted says.

“So if that means that every creature save for you guys are taking a break for this season, then doesn’t that mean that the shapeshifter will also be taking a break?” 

Ted clenches his jaw. “This _shapeshifter _is _not _a _normal _monster! How many times do I have to —”

“Twice is enough!” Jonathan says jerkily. “Don’t worry. I can’t promise that we’ll stop the thing soon, but I can promise you all that we’ll do everything we can and eventually stop it. Is that enough?”

“Yes,” they all say.

Jonathan jumps. “Do you _practice _that?”

“Obviously,” they say.

“Cool,” Jonathan says. He eyes Freddie, who, as if only now noticing him, runs up to him. His large paw pushes down on Jonathan’s knee as he licks the entirety of Jonathan’s face with one swift move. “Hey, buddy. Missed you too.”

Freddie lays his head on Jonathan’s lap. 

Continuing to pet Freddie, Jonathan looks back at the gnomes. “While I’d love to, uh, chat and all, it’s been a long day, so can you guys go?”

The gnome on Freddie sighs and jumps off. “Happy holidays and a happy new year, Jonathan.”

Ted pats Jonathan’s shoulder. “We’ll see you next year. Good luck with Alexei.”

“Thanks. Happy holidays to you guys, too.” He watches them leave through the front door. He’d get up to lock the door, but Freddie’s head is a comfortable and warm weight on his lap. Eh. If an attacker happens to break into the cabin, then Freddie can always step on them or something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a hot MINUTE. so sorry for the delay!! looking at the last chapter and the end-notes where i wished y'all a good year ... woof. it's been so long that i had to reread so much of this fic and upon editing this chapter i had mostly written already in january, i found SO many contradictions and it was just! a mess. i really hope i got all the errors out and that the flow of this still feels the same as the rest of the story.
> 
> lots of info! journals! portal! mike went missing! brenner? MARCH!
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this update!! i'd love to know your thoughts on this chapter. hope you're all taking care and going in good health. don't exactly know when chapter 8 will be out but a) i've started it! and b) it won't take another eight months. much love! <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my brain: you HAVE to finish this chapter by halloween  
me: but i have schoolwork to -  
my brain: BY HALLOWEEN  
me: but this chapter is more christmas-y, why does it even -  
my brain: HALLOWEEN!!!!!!  
me: OKAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> happy halloween, friends!! here's some of that weird week in between christmas and new years for you :-)

“I have a question.”

“If you ask me one more time if I’m sure I know how to use a pair of scissors, I swear—” Kali’s mouth hangs open. She drops her eyes away from Jonathan to her own hand with a pair of scissors pointed at Jonathan. “I don’t like how murder-y this seems.”

“You are very threatening with tape on your shirt and ...” Jonathan sits on his knees, ignoring the distinct crack alerting him he’s been sitting for too long and he really has to stop saying he’ll stretch more without following through. He leans over his coffee table and gently pushes Kali’s hair back. “A bow taped by your ear?”

Kali’s nose wrinkles. She touches the spot above her hair, grazing the red bow she’d managed to lose in her hair. He’d never imagined he’d see her look flustered, but she does, her mouth curving into an almost-shy smile before she bursts into laughter so uncontrollably she snorts. 

It startles Freddie. He’d been half-asleep and sprawled over Kali for the past twenty minutes, tired from the snowy walk they’d all taken before. 

He looks at Kali sitting across him. Wrapping paper, old newspaper, rolls of tape, and pens are scattered on the floor, on the coffee table, in between their legs. Crafts aren’t really his thing. Neither is it Kali’s, which, if the bow stuck in her hair wasn’t proof enough, maybe the fact that she’s the first person to staunchly agree with Jonathan that gift-wrapping absolutely belongs in the crafts category and is the fucking worst will suffice. 

Jonathan knows how to develop photos, work pretty much any and all cameras you could give him, and is that guy who knows how to make a mix-tape in the year 2019. It feels antithetical that gift-wrapping is proving to be the bane of his existence, especially considering all the other beings, the literal army of gnomes included, he’s come face-to-face with in the last four months, and yet.

But it’s okay. He’s got Kali. They’ve got tutorials queued up on their phones, now-lukewarm hot cocoa, faint Christmas music in the background even though neither of them technically celebrate it and it passed five days ago, and the same single-minded determinedness to get their gifts for tomorrow’s Secret Santa Exchange wrapped up and looking, at the very least, Not Atrocious. 

Outside, snow falls steadily like it has all month, every day feeling like the first snowfall of the year. It’s never been like this back home, but like with everything in Hawkins, it’s different here. Different and better. It snows a little every day, enough to keep the streets bright and white and picturesque with a coat of fresh snow but not enough that he can’t drive in. He thought that in the week he’d left for the holidays, leaving for the first day of Hanukkah and coming back right before the last day on the twenty-ninth because the paper needed him back, that the snow would’ve stopped. The veneer of this jolly happy town enjoying their holidays would fade, left with brown mushed-up roads, streets cold and empty, and cloudy dark skies to match that strange feeling he usually gets at the end of the year, knowing three-hundred-and-sixty-five days had passed and all he could think was, oh, that was it? This was all I did in a year? And deal with (ignore) the crushing disappointment that would follow. 

But not this year. 

As this year draws to a close, that disappointment he’s used to is replaced by something else. A slow and steady warmth trickling through him that he doesn’t quite know the feeling of. But that’s okay. He doesn’t have to. Like he said, things are different here. 

Kali stops laughing, catching her breath long enough to wheeze out, “Can’t believe you let me sit here with that in my hair for this long!”

“It looked nice! And you were focused on your cutting. How could I ruin your flow?”

“This flow, you mean?” She lifts one of her gifts, a large box containing fifty small pieces of chocolate inside. It’s almost-wrapped, almost a pertinent word because Kali hadn’t cut enough wrapping paper out. What she’s taped around it is two inches too short. 

“It’s fine, just cut out some more and tape it on. That’s an option ... right?”

“I could. If I hadn’t finished that roll of paper already.”

This gift is for Robin. Part one of two. It’s a box full of small packets of Smarties, Robin’s favourite chocolates, with dozens of handwritten notes mixed inside. Kali mostly wrote them all herself. She’d asked Jonathan, Nancy, and Steve to write a few compliments, encouraging words, jokes, anything sweet that would make her smile or laugh. Jonathan’s not sure how many Kali wrote or any of what she said. Not that he’d ask or want to, it’s just, well —

“It’s for Robin,” he says. “She wouldn’t mind if you use a different wrapping paper. She wouldn’t even mind if you stuffed them in her shoes or just put that bow back in your hair and told her you were her gift. She’d be over-the-moon happy either way.” 

Kali’s shoulders drop with a sigh. It’s not a discernible change, he couldn’t describe it if asked, but he sees it anyway, that flicker in her expression. He knows that look. He hasn’t known Kali for long but it doesn’t feel like that at all.

He scoots around the table between them to reach her Freddie, who’d been ambling around them, enjoying the crinkling noises his paws made against the discarded newspaper and wrapping paper on the floor, joins Jonathan. Within seconds, they’re on either side of her. Freddie nuzzles Kali’s knee and makes a happy noise when she rubs his back.

He sits with his knees to his chest, picking up a torn piece of the newspaper by his feet and crumpling it between his fingers. “You can tell me.” 

When he feels her head against his shoulder, he startles. Kali’s hair tickles his neck. A second later, he relaxes and leans his head against hers. Freddie crawls over Kali’s lap, hangs his head in Jonathan’s. Mariah Carey sings about all she wants for Christmas. Jonathan normally cannot stand to hear this song now that the holidays are pretty much finished, but as Kali hums along, tapping her fingers along Freddie’s spine to the beat, he feels differently. 

“You got me thinking,” she says finally. “About Robin. It’s why I asked Heather for a drink. ‘Cuz at first, talking about her with you made me think, well, fuck, I need to get over this thing that won’t happen —”

“Hold on, am I why you asked her to —”

“It’s rude to interrupt your guest.”

“It’s rude to interrupt your host.”

They meet each other’s eyes. She cracks a half-smile that looks reluctant. But once he smiles back, confused, her grin takes up her entire face and she nudges her knee into his thigh. “Guess we’re both rude then.”

“Guess so.” He rubs Freddie’s belly, his smile widening as Freddie’s tail starts to wag. “Sorry for interrupting. Go ahead.”

“Rude people don’t apologize,” she mock-chastises, and they elbow each other back and forth until Freddie sticks his paw in between them as if to tell them to stop getting distracted. “Right, right. Heather. I thought, well, Heather’s funny and smart and you know, that could be something, right? We’re friendly and we joke about dumb customers and she’s my favourite co-worker to make pies with, so when she asked me if I wanted to get coffee not from Hawks’ Cafe, I figured, why not at least try? So I tried.”

He swallows past the lump in his throat. He’s considered telling Kali, straight-up, hey, so funny thing, Robin very much feels the same way, but Robin had told them all to not interfere and just let Kali be with Heather. He hadn’t been sure what the right thing to do was. He just wants them all to be happy. They’re good people and they deserve good things and if he can be part of that? That’s worth everything. 

“That’s what I was gonna ask, earlier,” he says. “About Heather. If, uh, things were serious.”

“Well, they aren’t. Me and Heather, we’re just — having fun, I guess. But it’s not a thing. It could be but it won’t. Not with ...” She trails off, says Robin’s name with her silence and the glimmer in her eyes. “Y’know, last week, Heather and I were closing the cafe, cleaning the place up. Messing around with our mops, and I don’t even know how it happened, but we got kinda close and if I’d just leaned in ... but I didn’t. And I think she got it. She looked sorta disappointed but she just stepped back and offered to make tea and that was that. And here’s when what you actually said got to me. Remember?”

“Told you we all find someone eventually.”

“Yeah. Well. That wasn’t it, actually. It wasn’t what you said, it’s what you did.”

“But I did nothing?”

“Exactly!”

“What.”

“Listen, you saw me and Robs talk for, like, thirty seconds, and from that alone, you knew how I felt. You could just tell ‘cuz it’s that attached to who I am. If it’s this big part of me, why should I ignore it? Why shouldn’t I give it the fair chance it deserves? Why not give myself the shot?” She straightens, her face brightening, her voice loud with all the life bursting in it. She laughs and he can’t help but laugh back with her, completely enchanted by this glow she’s carrying. He’s honestly too distracted by that to fully piece together what she’s implying, so he just nods encouragingly for her to continue.

She picks the gift back up and sets it in front of their feet. Her thumb traces along the tub of chocolate’s lid. “It’s cheesy, but it’s true. There’s not nearly enough time to hesitate and second-guess everything and to not just ... try. Do what you’re scared of. You know?” 

He nods again, following her line of vision into the box, and it clicks.

“Oh! Kali, that’s so romantic, she’s going to love —”

“I didn’t even tell you what I was going to.”

“You don’t have to.” He pops the lid open and points his thumb into the folded note taped that reads in Kali’s loopy scrawl, in all-caps: GUESS WHAT? He flips the note up. Inside reads: NO SERIOUSLY GUESS. “And then you’re gonna tell her. Right?”

She hides her face in his shoulder. Her groan dissolves into laughter. “Should be scary how well you know me.”

He can’t help but smile as he wraps his arm around her shoulder. “You’re easy to know.” He’s not sure if he even understands entirely what he means, let alone if she will, but she tugs the arm he’s got around her further down her and winds their arms together. 

“You’re easy to know too,” she says. Of course she gets it. 

“You know when I moved here, I didn’t — I didn’t know what to expect.”

“A boring, sleepy town like Hawkins, what’d you think you’d get? Murray’s conspiracies get to you?”

“Pfft, no.” Which. That’s mostly true. He hadn’t really known what to believe about Hawkins’s weirdness until the gnomes chased him. “It’s just. I didn’t expect any of it. People like you.”

“People like me?”

He flicks his gaze out the window, his heartbeat steadying by the reassuringly constant falling of snow. His fingers are still a little pink from the mini snow-fight they waged in on their walk an hour ago in front of the cabin. Neither had gloves. Both chastised the other for it in between throwing clumps of snow, avoiding hitting their faces as Freddie raced around them, leaving paw-shaped tracks where he went. They laughed and hissed because holding snow in your bare hands was a terrible choice that they kept making anyway. 

About five minutes later, Kali threw a snowball, apparently having meant for it to soar above his head. It ended up grazing his hair and managed to pull his hoodie off. She laughed so hard she slipped back and fell. When he tried to help her up, she’d just yanked him down with her, and they spent a hypothermia-inducing amount of time laying on Alexei’s lawn, snow seeping into their clothes and hair and cheap boots. They kept laughing and she tried to apologize, wheezing out that snow had gotten all over his hair, so he just returned the favour and sprinkled snowflakes from his hair into hers until she retracted her apology. And when their laughter faded, and they remained spread out on the ground, cold all over except where their boots knocked and elbows touched with Freddie curled between them, all he could think about was how happy he was to be here. In Hawkins, in Alexei’s cabin, laying in a blanket of snow next to Kali with gifts for their friends waiting to be wrapped inside. 

He doesn’t quite know how to tell her that so he settles with this instead: “Y’know. Short waitresses who pretend to hate their jobs but actually like —”

“I don’t like my job.” She pulls back from his side to give him a pointed look that doesn’t land how squeaky her voice is. “Sure, sometimes the customers don’t suck and are actually nice to talk to, and yes, I like making smoothies, and fine, I look forward to making pies and — okay, I give up. I sort of like my job and you will never tell a soul for as long as you live.”

He zips his lips and mimes tossing a key away. “Secret’s safe with me.”

She softens, smiling down at her lap as she pushes her hair out of her face. She almost looks shy, and it’s very strange but certainly no stranger than how suddenly shy he feels now. “I get what you mean. You didn’t expect to be friends with someone as ... me as I am.”

“Yes. Wait. I don’t like how you phrased that but it’s true?”

“What?”

“You’re not weird.”

Kali’s forehead wrinkles. “Thank you?”

“What I mean is —” His face flushes but he’s too determined to be deterred by how much sense he’s not making. He scoots back to face her, his knees bouncing as he rubs his hands over them. “You’re a wonderful person. Anyone who knows you is lucky ‘cause of that, so, y’know. I think of myself as really lucky. ‘Cause I am.”

She does that thing where she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling for about two seconds before she inevitably gives up on it and lets her smile grow until it takes up her entire face. Her small hands that just an hour ago had held Freddie’s leash and tossed balls of snow at him now splay over his knees, gently stilling them. “Good. Because we’re all really lucky that you moved here. This year’s been really good to us, you know? Two days left of it and I can’t help but think about how much fuller our lives are now. Our square became, like, a pentagon when Athena was born in January, and now we’re a hexagon with you, and I really regret using shapes because what the fuck kind of sentimental feelings are brought up with hexagons, but the point is, it’s really clear that we were meant to be a hexagon. And now we finally are. Oh dear god, that was a terrible metaphor but I seriously meant what I — where are you going?”

“Nowhere. I’m right here.” He’s still sitting on his knees and reaching over the table to grab the very first gift he’d wrapped today. It’s one of three just like it, small, thin, and rectangular-shaped. He’s technically breaking their first rule of Secret Santa: only buy gifts for the person whose name you drew. But according to Steve, at least one person ends up breaking it anyway, just like how every year, they all find out whose Secret Santa is who by the time they exchange gifts on New Years’ Eve. 

“It’s a bit of a mess, but a functioning mess,” Nancy had told Jonathan over their weekly Friday dinner two weeks ago. Steve was changing Athena in her room as Nancy and Jonathan set the table. 

“A mess that I’m honoured to be part of,” he’d said easily as he adjusted the height of Athena’s high-chair. 

She had one more plate still in her hand but she didn’t move. Instead, she said firmly, “Us too.”

It lit him with the same spark of feeling, both gentle and painfully bright in his chest, that he’s got right now. He couldn’t name it then but as he settles back on the floor with Kali’s gift in his hands, watching her eyes light up and her hands fly to her face to cover her precarious smile, he realizes it’s happiness. He’s just happy.

“I was gonna give it to you tomorrow when we all exchange gifts, but I might as well do it now. It’s just a little something. Got the same one for everyone, and it’s really not a big deal since — well, you’ll see.” He drops the gift by her feet. It’s taped up in old newspapers he’d grabbed from the Post. It just felt right to do it that way. It’s how his family’s always given each other gifts since they needed the money it’d take to buy wrapping paper more than the wrapping paper itself. It feels more personal that way. As Kali holds her gift up to her face and strokes the creases in the paper, it seems like she agrees.

“You fucking sap.” 

“Wait ‘till you see what it is.”

“I didn’t get you anyth —”

“Shh.”

“Fine. Only ‘cause you’re terribly nice and got me something.”

“How else do you treat your fellow vertex?”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Get it? ‘Cause we’re part of a hexagon? Hey, I’m using your metaphor here.”

She rolls her eyes but laughs and bumps her knee into his. She drops the gift onto her lap and tears the paper off. Freddie circles them, the pieces of Kali’s wrapping paper crinkling under his paws.

He watches her intently with his hands folded in his lap and his knees bouncing again. Freddie climbs into Jonathan’s lap and hooks his chin over Jonathan’s left knee, keeping him still. Jonathan smiles shakily and strokes Freddie’s head.

She rips the last piece of tape off. The last strip of newspaper falls to the floor. Her face quiets. She grips the eight by twelve picture-frame with both hands, staring at it with wide eyes, before she holds it to her chest. Her eyes flick to his, brighter than ever. “Jonathan.”

“It’s a picture of all of us,” he explains, because that definitely isn’t information she already knows, “which I developed at the Post, so that’s money I didn’t pay for it, which, yay, I guess, sticking it to the man or whatever —”

“Holy shit. You are a sap.”

“My cover’s been blown.”

“Appears so.” She makes the picture-frame stand up on the table and tilts it so the photo faces them. It was taken in early November at their weekly game-evenings at Hawk’s Cafe. Jonathan, Steve, and Kali were squeezed in one side of the booth, Robin and Nancy in the other. They had Athena up on the front of the table for the photo. She sat up well on her own, but Robin and Jonathan, both at the front of their sides of the booth, held her back up anyway. Behind them, Kali, Steve, and Nancy all sat up on their knees so they’d be seen in the photo and had their arms stretched and pointed towards Athena. 

They’d asked Carol to take the picture for them. She pretended to be all grumpy about it, sarcastically informing them that waitresses weren’t photographers. But then she went ahead and directed the photo, told Steve his hair was in his face, told Robin and Jonathan to move their heads closer to Athena’s, and caught Athena’s attention towards the camera by singing Baby Shark soothingly. When they all stopped smiling, confused and mostly comforted because wow, Carol had a nice voice, she made an impatient noise and huffed, “What? I have layers.”

It’s a nice picture. Shockingly good lighting, everyone with matching grins, their heads nearly bumping together, all cozied with Athena at their centre. It just made sense to give them each a copy of the photo. A thank you for the past four months, for however long they’ll have left, and for the place they’ve given him in their ... hexagon. Hm. It’s really not that bad of a metaphor.

“Do you like hugs?” Kali asks.

“Uh, sure, do you like —” The rest of his sentence is lost with the force of Kali springing forward into his arms. They almost crash onto the floor but Jonathan matches her strength so they remain upright, arms slotted around each other, her head tucked into his shoulder. 

“I’m not usually a hugger,” she starts.

“Until Robin and Steve?”

She laughs. “Until Robin and Steve.”

“Well, you give great hugs.”

“And _you _give great gifts. Can I put mine up in the cafe?”

He pictures it on the far right of the cafe’s front counter, next to the stack of menus and napkin dispensary, right by the vending machine that only works with two swift kicks to its screen.

“Yeah,” he says, choked up. “Of course.”

.

.

.

At one, Kali leaves for her shift at the Cafe. 

At half-past one, Jonathan calls Joyce for a quick chat. 

At five past two, Freddie races out the backdoor into the backyard. That alone would be concerning considering Jonathan hadn’t opened the door himself but the six-feet tall snowman with an elf perched on its head lumbering towards them takes the cake.

It’s not _good _by any means, but how threatening can something made of snow and an elf less than a third of his height really be when you’ve got a dog with super-strength that can grow up to seven-feet?

Still, Jonathan can’t help but empathetically mutter, “What the _fuck_” as he watches his dog gallop across his backyard and bark manically. He’s glad he doesn’t have any neighbours since he’s in the middle of nowhere. Until he really considers that yeah, he’s in the middle of nowhere, so if something happens —

No. What could happen?

Jonathan swings around and grabs his sweater from the kitchen counter. His boots are all across the cabin at the front door, so he doesn’t think twice about jumping out into his backyard in his socks, stuffing one arm into his sweater while he calls out, 

“Hey! Please just fuck off!”

“Or _what_?” 

It’s not that it bothers him that this elf has a lower voice than him. It’s just ... that’s weird, right? That’s really fucking weird.

Jonathan pulls his sweater over his head and marches forward. The snowman’s stopped in its tracks, a safe six-feet away, but Jonathan doesn’t care. He’s gotten all of his gifts wrapped, had a lovely morning with Kali, and he’s babysitting Athena later tonight while Nancy and Steve dine out at some fancy restaurant. Today’s been a good day. It’s going to _stay _a good day.

“Or my dog will, unfortunately, have to hurt you,” he says plainly. He catches up to Freddie and glances expectantly at him, waits to blink and see his dog shoot up and strike.

Freddie barks.

Wanna know what’s stranger than an elf having a deep voice? A giant snowman, with its anatomy consisting of three balls of snow, its nose an actual carrot, sticks for arms, buttons for eyes, and a scarf for a neck it does not have, bursting into laughter. Jonathan’s already freezing from standing in his backyard, snow seeping through his socks and the part of his sweatpants he’d rolled up, so it definitely doesn’t mean anything that a violent shiver runs down his spine. 

“Quit it,” the elf chides, delivering a reprimanding thwack to the back of the snowman’s head. It knocks a concerning amount of snow out. Isn’t that dangerous? That seems dangerous. And a really rude thing to do to your co-worker. That’d be like Jonathan slicing Murray’s ear off. Jesus. Elves are terrifying.

“Give him a second,” Jonathan says.

“What? Why would I _wait _for your animal to attack me?”

“Why would _you _hit part of your partner’s head off?”

The elf looks disgusted. “We’re not together.”

“That’s not what I — oh my god, can you just tell me why you’re in my backyard? Christmas is over.” 

“You need to stop digging around! You’re gonna ruin the fabric of —”

“ — this town, yeah, yeah, I’ve been told that already.” Flashes of the gnomes back in September, at the very end of his first week in Hawkins, pop up into his mind. “You’re four months late.”

“I’m not part of Ted and his stupid gang.”

“Hey, they’re not _stupid _—”

“The last time the portal was opened, this world nearly split itself in two,” the elf spits out. “You don’t know what you’re doing. In the wrong hands, you will break this town and eventually, the rest of the world. Is the risk worth it?”

Jonathan’s feet grow numb. Every inch of his exposed skin is bitten red by the wind, his hair damp from the melted snowflakes it’s collected. The only thing he can hear is his pounding heartbeat until his voice, much calmer than he feels says, “Yes. It is. We know what we’re doing.”

“Alexei didn’t. Brenner didn’t. What makes you so confident in yourself?”

His head starts to spin. He's lost all feeling in his fingers. The cold stings his eyes, squeezes out a lone tear. But right now, he doesn’t care about any of that. He cares about only one thing.

“I know what I’m doing. Now you can tell me what the hell you meant about Brenner or —”

The elf laughs. “Or what?”

Jonathan doesn’t need to see it actually happen. The way the elf’s face pales, his head and the snowman’s tilted back, and the growing shadow covering their faces are enough for his smug half-smile to spread across his mouth.

“Or that.” The ground rumbles beneath his feet, sends the snow deeper into his clothes and under his skin. Freddie’s newly elongated tail wags. When Jonathan looks up at him, he finds Freddie’s tongue sticking out of his mouth, his eyes shining the same way whenever Jonathan’s dangling a toy in front of him. “You have your choices,” Jonathan says. “So make one.”

“You are blinded by your ignorance and unfounded hope. But fine. We are not afraid of a _dog_.”

Freddie’s wagging tail darts out and splices the snowman’s bottom globe off in one swift motion. It’s satisfying for all of one second until the elf snaps and just like that, the snowman’s grown back and not just to its regular size. 

Sometimes Jonathan wonders if he’ll just wake up and this’ll all be some weird dream. He’ll tell his family over breakfast that he had the _strangest _dream of standing behind a cabin, snow up to his ankles, staring up at his gigantic dog staring up at an even _more _gigantic snowman who’s got the smuggest piece of shit for an elf seated on its head. 

Well. He could still tell his family that he dreamt it. Assuming he lives to tell them.

Just kidding. He’s scared shitless but he’s not close to finished. This isn’t where his story ends.

The snowman lunges his long, stick-arm at Jonathan but jumps back at the sound of Freddie’s deafening bark. Freddie bares his teeth. Before Jonathan can verify if he’s actually seeing red in his dog’s eyes, Freddie leaps onto the snowman. 

“_Yes, Freddie! _Who’s the best boy? You are, buddy!” All of his worry for Freddie mutes at the easy, almost natural way Freddie fights. He’s smaller than the snowman but he’s angrier. When it tries to hit him, Freddie snags its stick-arm with his teeth, bites down, and pulls.

He wants to keep watching. But he notices quickly in the blur of motion as the snowman and Freddie tangle that the elf’s gone. 

Panic dizzies him. He nearly falls over from how rapidly he spins around, his wide eyes alert. He can’t let it run away. Not after what it said about Alexei and Brenner. They were somehow connected. A kind-hearted scientist and a deranged kidnapper. Seemingly only two people who’d been to the portal, one Jonathan and Murray still can’t fucking find, and one of them is missing, the other dead. They need to know more.

He catches the elf making a break for the sliding glass door back into the cabin. 

“No fucking way. Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Jonathan cannot _believe _this is his life. He hisses through the burst of cold pain shooting up his legs as he races towards the door, sprinting after the elf. 

The elf yelps and runs faster, only a few steps away from the cabin. “I need the key!”

Jonathan stops in his tracks. This is a stupid idea but it’s going to work. Breathless, he raises his arms and points back to himself. “It’s right here. Come and get it.”

The elf whirls around and bolts towards Jonathan. He’s not afraid of a three-feet tall little shit with red hair and disturbingly bright skin, dressed in a stupid green and red elf-costume, barreling towards him.

Okay, maybe he’s a little scared. But anyone would be.

He takes in a deep breath. When the elf’s close enough, Jonathan bites the inside of his cheeks, grabs the elf by its hair, and yanks him into the air. 

“I don’t know what you thought would happen.” Jonathan fists its hair harder when it starts to thrash and kick wildly. “You’re going to help me.”

“I will kill you.”

“Do it. Kill me.”

The elf kicks harder but its short legs can’t reach Jonathan. It huffs, cold bursts of air fogging around its face, and gives up. “I will. Just not now.”

“I look forward to it.” Jonathan faces them towards Freddie. Freddie’s got the snowman pinned to the ground, his paws wrapped around its head and his feet planted on either side of the snowman’s lower half. He licks the snowman’s nose. “Start talking or your snowman’ll be —”

_Snap._

Freddie hits the ground with a thump. He whines, staring at his paws as if checking to see if he made the snowman underneath him disappear.

Jonathan clenches tighter around the elf’s hair. “Did you just — did you just kill your snowman? How could you do that?”

The elf scoffs. “I’m not telling you anything. He’s not dead.”

“Not telling me anything,” he mutters, shaking his head. Another gust of wind passes and rips through him. He’s going to catch hypothermia, or at the very least a cold, but it would’ve been worth it.

He looks the elf right in its eyes. “I’m sorry about this. It just — it’ll be easier. And you’ll probably wake up soon. This’ll be the worst part, I promise.”

The elf’s look of confusion lasts a second before Jonathan wipes it off with a swift punch to its face. He shouldn’t feel bad about knocking an elf unconsciousness after it threatened to kill him. But he does.

Time to call the person who wouldn’t feel this sick about it.

.

.

.

“The little demon had it coming. Don’t feel bad about it.”

Jonathan sets a steaming cup of tea in front of Murray. He plops at the other end of the dining table, wrapping both hands around his mug. It’s been half an hour since he stepped back inside, locked the passed-out elf in an upstairs closet which made him feel guiltier than when he hit him, and changed into warmer clothes, yet he still can’t get warm enough.

Freddie curling by his feet does help.

Jonathan lowers his mug onto the table and reaches down to pet Freddie. “I don’t feel bad about it.”

Murray gives him an unimpressed look all with the twitch of one eyebrow. “Sure. But your work is over. I’ll take it from here.”

“You’re not torturing an elf.”

“Who said anything about torture?”

“Hey, I’m _serious_. There are other ways to do this. We’re not going that way.”

“Agreed. Which is why I’m not going to torture him. Jesus, could you have a little more faith in me?”

“I do! It’s just ... okay, am I really that far off with my assumption?”

“_Yes!_” 

“You know I don’t mean any harm by it, Murray, it’s just —”

The table shakes. Both mugs along with the journal and Jonathan’s notebook nearly roll off the table. His red pen rolls onto the floor. Jonathan swears under his breath, bending to grab the pen and see what the fuck is going on.

But Freddie meets Jonathan at eye-level and holds the pen between his teeth for him.

“Oh. Okay?” Jonathan accepts the pen with a half-smile. “This is kinda new. He usually gets super big or stays his regular size. He’s never in between. He’s as tall as a child now.”

Murray sips his tea. “Somehow, this is scarier.”

Freddie barks. 

“I said what I said, dog, what’re you gonna do, fight me, you —”

“Oh my god, stop,” Jonathan says. He strokes the back of Freddie’s head as Freddie noses along Jonathan’s shoulder. “Be nicer.”

“I don’t trust it.”

“You don’t trust anyone.”

“I trust you.”

“Oh.” Jonathan’s shoulders droop, some of the tension from the past hour draining. “I trust you too.”

“Terrible decision,” Murray says with a scoff. But Jonathan knows he’s just saying it to say it, no real meaning behind it, and that he’s probably hiding a silly smile behind his next sip of tea. 

Jonathan grabs his notebook and glances over what he’d scribbled. It’s not much. “Key, portal, Alexei and Brenner,” he reads aloud. “You swear Alexei never said anything about being friends with Brenner?”

“No. I mean, we weren’t really talking for the few months he’d lived here so I don’t know how much that means. I just don’t understand the connection. Brenner was a pharmacist that kidnapped children. Alexei would _never _hurt a fly. He’s a vegetarian! I don’t understand.”

“It’s okay,” Jonathan reassures. “We’ll get it out of the elf. This has to make sense somehow, okay?”

Murray bites his bottom lip, staring at Jonathan’s notebook with furrowed eyebrows. “Alright. Yeah, you’re right. But I don’t understand the key. Alexei regularly lost and forgot the keys to our apartment when we lived together. Why would he base his entire life’s worth on one? If the way to the portal is just a fucking key, then —”

“We would’ve found it by now,” Jonathan finishes quietly. Freddie whimpers into Jonathan’s arm. “I know. But maybe that just means it’s not here. That it’s somewhere else. A key to wherever the portal actually is.”

“Great. So we’ve got more questions instead of answers and the risk that actually using the portal could end the world, so even if we find it, we could just make everything spectacularly worse.”

“No. I refuse to believe that. If Alexei used it without destroying the world, then so can we. Besides, wouldn’t there have been _some _kind of worldwide disaster if that was true? This was what, ‘07? Nothing happened then. Maybe Hawkins had a small earth — fuck.” He scrambles for his phone, looks up _Hawkins earthquake 2007 _but he doesn’t find anything. He tries _natural disasters _instead but nothing. Undeterred, he tucks his phone away and says, “Nancy and Steve. I’ll ask them. But if there were really big consequences, we’d know about them. It’d be in the journal. I’m not worried about this.”

“I don’t know, kid —”

“You said you trust me. So trust me.”

“Fucking Christ,” Murray says softly. “Fine. We won’t end the world. Things will be fine. You and your pesky optimism.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“I think his optimism is nice.”

Jonathan shrieks, nearly falling out of his chair. His heart nearly pounds out of his chest but once he realizes it’s only Nancy, walking into the kitchen in her black coat over her Sheriff’s uniform, his heartbeat settles.

“You didn’t hear me walk in?” Nancy asks with an amused twinkle in her eyes. He can’t help his stupid smile as she approaches them, brightening when she sees Freddie. Freddie. Oh, shit.

Jonathan snaps his head down to look at Freddie only to see that Freddie’s returned to his regular size. He leaps at Nancy who laughs and bends to greet him back. Jonathan’s dumb heart melts at the gentle way Nancy says, “Hi, Freddie, I missed you” and how she laughs when Freddie licks her face.

Nancy rises back to her full height. She keeps her hand lowered to scratch underneath Freddie’s chin. “I didn’t mean to scare you guys but I don’t regret it. The octaves you both can reach? Incredible. Consider joining a choir or something.”

“Haha.” It doesn’t come out as dry as intended, not with how hard Jonathan’s smiling. “Very funny.”

“Aw, don’t be like that.” Nancy rests her hand on his back. She’s not even touching his bare skin, but he’s suddenly and completely warm all over, leaning into her touch without a drop of hesitation. “I would’ve rung the doorbell but your door was open.”

Jonathan looks at Murray with his jaw clenched. “You left my door open.”

“I was in a _rush_! It was an emergency.”

“What was?” Nancy’s forehead creases, her back straightening as she glances around the kitchen. Her hand shifts to Jonathan’s shoulder and squeezes tightly. The speed in which Nancy steeled herself both scares him and leaves him in awe. Until she looks at him and asks gently, “Are you okay?” and he realizes she’s not just steeled herself to attack but to protect. 

Protect _him_.

He covers her hand with his, stroking his thumb along the back of her hand. “Don’t worry. Everything’s okay. It was just, uh, a Post-related emergency.”

Nancy hooks their thumbs together with a small smile. She flicks her gaze to Murray. “You take a newspaper you regularly and publicly shit on real seriously, huh?”

Murray cracks a dry smile. “I’m a man of many contradictions.” 

“You’re not giving Jonathan a hard time, are you?”

“‘Course not! Jonathan, tell her!”

“Even when he’s not here, he’s always giving me a hard time.” This makes Murray gasp, so Jonathan quickly backtracks. “But it’s a welcome hard time! It’s a _compliment_!”

Nancy grins. “So do _I _give you a hard time?”

“Never,” Jonathan says automatically. He winces. “You’re different.”

Her hand slides up his neck into his hair. It’s a light touch, her index finger crooking into a strand tentatively, but when he nods, she sinks her hand in. “I’m different,” she echoes almost proudly. “I would lock Jonathan’s front door, for starters.”

“I was panicking!” Murray shakes his head. “I’m not taking slander from a bunch of kids.”

“We’re not kids,” Jonathan protests. “Nancy actually _has_ a kid.”

Murray lights up, scooting his chair closer to the table. He props his elbows onto the table and rests his chin in his palm. “How is she?”

“She’s good! She’s speaking more, calling us mama and dada, and she’s been standing more, trying to walk more. Her first steps are on their way. I can feel it.”

“Wonderful,” Murray says earnestly. “Where’s she now?”

“Home with Steve. Just on my way now. Jonathan, you wanna come with?”

“Hm? Did we have plans or — oh, fuck. I didn’t forget,” Jonathan promises, “it’s just been a weird day, but I swear I didn’t forget.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You forgot.”

“I would never!” He insists, his face flushing red. 

Murray leans back in his seat with a lazy smile. “He didn’t. He mentioned he only had until four for the work issue because he had plans to ‘hang out with Athena’. He was very excited to tell me.”

“Oh.” Nancy’s teasing smile becomes sheepish as she ducks her head. It’s painfully endearing. “If you’re busy with work, it’s no problem, we under —”

“No, I’m good.” Jonathan looks at Murray. “I mean, am I —”

Murray flicks his wrist. “I’ve got this.”

“That’s not as comforting as you think it is.”

“_Hey. _I know what I’m doing.”

“I know, but your methods scare me.”

“Valid fear,” Nancy chimes in, earning Murray’s scowl.

“You’re sure?” Jonathan presses.

Murray nods. “Trust me.”

“Okay. Good. Just remember, what matters most is finding the — the source,” Jonathan stresses. He shoves his notebook facing-down towards Murray. “Get the source. But don’t torture … _Elv_in over it.”

“My god,” Murray grumbles, flipping the notebook to its cover page. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of this. Anything else?”

“Yes!” Jonathan scratches his forehead, trying to think of how to best phrase this. Nancy’s right by his side, appearing smug by the way Murray’s actually listening to Jonathan’s instructions. Her hand’s still in his hair and he’s itching to get out of his house already and go to hers. This is the first time he’s seen her in the week he’s been gone for the holidays. He hasn’t seen her, Steve, or Athena in a full _week _and he can’t take it anymore.

“Don’t let Elvin snap at you,” he says finally.

Murray’s forehead wrinkles. “What?”

“Don’t. Let. Him. _Snap_. At. You.”

“I’m not a pushover, I won’t —”

“Look at me.” He turns his shoulder ever so slightly, obstructing Nancy’s view of his left hand as he presses his middle finger and thumb together. “No snapping. Okay?”

“Got it.”

“You and your temper,” Nancy sighs, stepping back as Jonathan stands. “Seriously, you know how many times I’ve been called because he’s been trespassing on private property?”

Murray huffs. “What does that have to do with my temper?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to point out how you’re the most unsubtle investigator in the world. Very serious question: do you know what stealth is?”

Jonathan snorts a laugh. He hip-checks his chair into the table and joins Nancy in staring expectantly at Murray.

“You guys are free to leave now,” Murray says. “Shoo.”

“You can’t dismiss us, you don’t live here,” Nancy argues but Jonathan’s already striding across the kitchen, gently tugging on Nancy’s wrist. Murray and Freddie walk them to the door.

Jonathan plucks his jacket off the coat rack, almost dropping it when Freddie stands on his hind legs and paws at Jonathan’s thighs. “You’re good to watch Freddie, right?”

“Sure. It’ll be ...” Murray plasters on the most insincere smile possible. “Fun.”

“Good luck with whatever piece you’re working on.” Nancy steps into her boots, wriggling around for them to properly fit. 

“Thanks. Have fun on your date.”

“Thanks.”

“This is weird,” Jonathan says as he zips his jacket. “You two, being civil. Steve won’t believe me. Should I get a picture?”

They flip him off at the same time. The pure disgust on both their faces that follows a split-second later when they realize they’d done the same thing makes Jonathan laugh so hard he nearly trips over his boots.

.

.

.

In the car-ride, Jonathan texts Murray:

_okay, I don’t know why I didn’t just wait to text you this but literally don’t let the elf snap. He snapped and got his gigantic snowman to disappear and I think maybe he could do the same to make it reappear. You’d be super pissed off if you died via snowman so please don’t die and don’t let it snap and also don’t torture him. I’M SERIOUS._

As soon as he hits send, Nancy clears her throat. “If you wanna go back, help Murray with the newspaper —”

“I’m good here,” he says, tucking his phone underneath his leg. “I swear. I really am excited to babysit. I’ve been practicing my pat-a-cake.”

Her laugh has got to be his favourite sound. Her grip on the steering wheel loosens as she drives steadily, her car beginning to warm up. “Good. Athena’s getting very competitive.”

He cracks his knuckles. “Bring it.”

“How was your trip back home? Family’s good? We sent you all those pictures of Athena but you couldn’t bother to return the favour, huh? Didn’t we ask of one with you and your brother?”

“I took one!”

“Show me!”

“You’re _driving_. This is very alarming, coming from you, Sheriff.”

“Obviously I meant later. I’m a good driver. You’re in good hands.”

“Trust me, I know,” he says, thinking about how nice it felt to have her fingers in her hair while they were in his kitchen. He sinks into the passenger seat, stares out at the snow-covered road sprawling out in front of them. “Hey. Can I ask you something that you don’t have to answer at all and I’m sorry for bringing —”

“Jonathan?”

He looks at her from the corner of his eyes, unable to read what her calm tone might actually mean. “Nancy?”

“You can ask me anything.”

“Oh. Right. Well, it’s about, um. Your brother. And what happened to him.”

“What about it?”

“If you don’t want to talk about it,” he says carefully, noting how her shoulders stiffen, the speed of the car just barely picking up. “That’s okay.”

“What about it?” She repeats harder.

He doesn’t like the dark shadow that crosses her face, hates himself for causing it in the first place. What he’s asking is important, but right now, it doesn’t feel more important than Nancy’s wellbeing but he goes against every instinct he has and makes himself ask, “Why’d Brenner do it? It’s just, every article I could find ... none of them give a reason.”

“Officially? It was painted as some lonely old man who wanted company so bad, he took four kids to get it.” Three boys, Mike included, and a girl. The article had said they were friends from school. He wonders if they’re all still friends now. 

“Unofficially?”

“You’re not doing some piece, are you? Helping Murray with a scoop?”

“What? No, I’m not, don’t —”

“Because what my brother and his friends went through, that’s not some _story _that other people can gawk at and morbidly obsess over —”

“Nancy,” he interrupts with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I know. It’s not like that. I promise. I don’t want to do anything that could hurt you and your family. This isn’t for the Post, it’s just ...”

She sighs, her shoulders sagging. “No, I get it. I’m sorry for —”

“You’re protective of your family. That’s a good thing.” He draws his hand back right as she sends him a tiny, almost appreciative smile. “You don’t have to apologize for that.”

“Still. I know you’d never do something like that, I’m just wary. My brother’s been harassed a million different times since it happened, everyone wanting to know more and sell it off to the paper. There’s this big conspiracy that, well, how do I put this? A bunch of people think my brother and his friends killed Brenner.”

His stomach flips. “What? I thought he died of natural causes.“

“He did. Probably. That’s what Mike told the police and us. Gotta love small towns and their incompetency. They secured Brenner’s house, got his body, took it to the morgue, but it, uh, well — disappeared. No one knows what happened to it. They’re pretty sure he’s dead. I _know _he’s dead. But everyone mistakes this town’s stupidity for some big conspiracy.”

“Do _you _think that’s what it is? A big conspiracy?”

“No. Martin Brenner was a shitty man with a shitty heart that gave up on him. And if you wanna know _why _he did, well, Mike told us that Brenner planned on ... experimenting on them. He’d never gotten to _do _anything, just kept them locked away for the entire week, but apparently, that was his plan.”

His arms break out into goosebumps. “Nancy, that’s ...”

“Awful. Sad. Crazy. Yeah.” She chuckles humourlessly, slowing at a stop sign. She looks at him, a new intensity in her blue eyes, and her breath hitches. “The weirdest part for me is that I wish sometimes there was a trial. I’m glad Mike and his friends didn’t have to go through it but at least we’d know more, you know? At least he’d have to _live _with the shame and disgust and die in a cold prison cell.”

He reaches across the console and touches her knee. “I’m glad he’s dead.”

She stares at his hand. “Me too.” She laughs wetly, wiping her eyes with both hands. “Bet you feel real safe in this town now, huh?”

He removes his hand just to rifle through his pockets, sorting through a wad of receipts to find a packet of tissues. He unfolds it, opens it up to her. She blinks at the tissues held towards her, a tear falling down her face. 

“Tissue?”

One of her hands picks a tissue and dabs at her eyes, the other sliding in between both of his hands. 

“For what it’s worth, I do feel safe here,” he says sincerely. He holds her hand with care, hooking their thumbs together like she’d done back at the cabin. “With you as the Sheriff? How could I not?”

Nancy’s smile is pure sunlight. 

.

.

.

As soon as the door to Nancy and Steve’s home flies open, Steve sweeps Jonathan into a hug and kisses Nancy over Jonathan’s shoulder. It’s all very close and happens much faster than Jonathan can process, but he doesn’t think twice, just wraps his arms around Steve and hugs him back so tightly he manages to lift Steve off the floor.

“Holy shit, dude! You’re _carrying _me.”

“Want me to stop?”

Steve wraps his legs around Jonathan’s torso, tucking his face into his shoulder. “Fuck no. Carry me to the sofa.” 

“So demanding,” Jonathan says playfully, kicking the front door shut. He steps out of his boots and sets them next to Nancy’s. 

“Am not.”

“And whiny too,” Nancy adds, slipping out of her jacket. She walks alongside them towards the living room and hangs her coat over her arm. Jonathan can’t see Steve’s face but judging from Nancy’s delighted laugh, he must look extremely offended. “It’s very lovable.”

“_You’re_ very lovable,” Steve says. “We’re gonna have the best date tonight and our daughter will be watched by the best babysitter.”

“Speaking of our daughter, where is she?”

“She’s asleep, but she’ll probably wake up pretty —” Steve falls silent as the distinct noise of wailing pierces the air. “Soon. I didn’t mean to do that. I swear.”

Nancy and Jonathan share a dry chuckle and reroute down the hall towards Athena’s room.

Jonathan makes the mistake of grunting as he readjusts his grip around Steve. He hears the frown in Steve’s voice as Steve asks, “You good? I’ll get off.”

“It’s fine, I got you.”

“Shut up.”

“I could drop you right now.”

Nancy walks backwards, facing Jonathan. “You could but you won’t.” 

“I won’t,” Jonathan sighs. 

Steve loosens his arms around Jonathan’s neck. “You sure you don’t want me to get off ya?”

Jonathan means it when he says, “I’m sure.” 

As soon as they enter Athena’s room, they find her standing in her crib, clutching its bars and staring up at them with tears all over her cheeks. Her wailing only gets louder. Nancy smiles fondly. Jonathan used to be confused by that but he’s since come to learn that sometimes Athena will just see Nancy and the fact that Nancy is there but _not _holding her makes her sob.

It stirs an odd, feather-light feeling in Jonathan’s chest when Nancy scoops Athena up in her arms and Athena immediately holds onto Jonathan’s shoulder. At first, he thinks she’s trying to touch Steve, but no. She just continuously pokes him, almost demandingly.

“Missed you too,” Jonathan tells her honestly. 

“You should hold her.” Steve unwraps his legs around Jonathan and returns his feet to the floor. “Thank you for the smooth ride, man.”

“You’re very —” Jonathan takes in the sight of Steve’s neatly combed hair, his soft red dress-shirt with flowers all over. “Wow. You look really nice.”

“Could you sound a little more surprised for me?” But Steve’s grinning, rolling up his sleeves as he looks at Nancy. “Nance, he thinks I look really nice.”

Nancy pointedly eyes Steve from head to toe. “You do look really nice. Holy shit, you’re gorgeous.”

“What happened to no swearing in front of our angel?”

“Exceptions can be made when her dad’s looking like _this_. Right, Jonathan?”

“Right,” Jonathan agrees. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud but it’s worth it for Steve’s double-take. “Are you blushing?”

“_No!”_

“It’s bad to lie,” Nancy teases. She hoists Athena into the air, giggling when Athena does. “Isn’t it, Athena?” Nancy nods and Athena promptly mirrors her.

“I’m trying so hard to be annoyed but it’s just not working,” Steve says. “You’re both too cute. Jonathan, do something annoying.”

“No.”

“Perfect.”

Nancy smirks before she passes Athena into Jonathan’s arms. “I’m gonna shower, get ready. Be back in a bit.” In quick succession, she kisses Athena’s forehead, Steve’s nose, and Jonathan’s cheek. When she pulls back, her eyes widen, but before anyone can speak, she darts out of the room.

Jonathan touches his cheek, dazed. “Did she mean to do that?”

“Probably not.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No.” Steve’s eyebrows furrow. “Should it?”

“I guess not?”

“You can kiss my cheek to make it even.”

“... Do you want me to?”

“Do _you_?”

Jonathan has no idea how he’s entered this conversation but here he is. “Sure?”

Steve leans against Athena’s crib, shaking his head. “Well, that wasn’t very enthusiastic. You shouldn’t kiss my face if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t _not _want to,” Jonathan insists loudly. “I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Dude, I offered. Unless _you’re _uncomfortable, then —”

“I’m not.” Jonathan tips his chin up, squeezes in next to Steve, and presses a very soft kiss to Steve’s jaw. “Happy?”

Athena reaches out and touches where Jonathan had pressed his lips. 

“Ecstatic,” Steve murmurs. “But you know technically, well, to make it even, _I’d _have to —”

Jonathan doesn’t know what’s going on but that’s been true for months now, right? He moves his head closer to Steve’s and angles his cheek towards him. “I’d be honoured. Unless you’re comfortable?”

Steve’s laugh simultaneously puts Jonathan at ease and lets a kaleidoscope of butterflies free in his stomach. “You’re such a d-word.”

“A delight?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, sounding completely serious. He splays one hand over Athena’s back while his other arm winds around Jonathan’s shoulder. He leans in, kisses the same spot on Jonathan’s forehead as Nancy. His breath warms Jonathan’s skin as he murmurs, “An absolute delight.”

_._

_._

_._

A little over twenty minutes later, when Nancy plops in between them on their sofa, Jonathan and Steve catch other eyes and lean in to kiss her cheeks, Steve taking her left, Jonathan her right.

“Oh,” she says, smiling incredulously at them both. She looks ridiculously gorgeous, more so than usual: her hair is curlier than usual, shiny hearts dangle from her ears, and her red lipstick matches her red dress. “What do I do to earn that?”

“Your husband kissed my forehead,” Jonathan says.

Steve swings his leg over Nancy’s to foot Jonathan’s thigh. “He did it first!”

Nancy lights up with a grin, reaching out to touch Steve’s face. “Where’d he do it? Wait. Hold on. You guys did this without me!?”

_._

_._

_._

“It just doesn’t seem logical! How can it be a continent _and _a country?”

“But it’s both,” Jonathan says, distressed. “How can you argue it’s not?”

Steve shakes his head vigorously and rubs his hands together. “I’m not arguing against it. I’m saying it’s illogical so it’s totally valid that I lost that point on that freshman geography test. I should’ve gotten _half _a point at least.”

“This was the same argument that fifteen-year-old Steve used in that class,” Nancy says wistfully.

Jonathan smirks. “Did he get that half-point back?”

“Our teacher took another point off because he kept insisting he was right. Which, honestly? I kind of agree with Steve.”

“Aha!” Steve cries out triumphantly. “In freshman year, you said I was an idiot for thinking that!”

“I called you an idiot because I _liked _you, which, dear god, that sounds terrible, you’re not an idiot at all, but, y’know. That was freshman-me’s style of flirting.”

“Hey, but it worked though, right?” Jonathan gestures to Athena in Steve’s lap. They’re all still squeezed comfortably in their living room sofa. Each has a wineglass full of water, a half-eaten bag of chips wedged between Nancy and Jonathan. It’s completely dark out. He’s not sure how long they’ve been talking. An hour, maybe even two? 

Jonathan’s eyes fly to the clock. It’s five minutes to seven. “Guys, your reservation is in, like, twenty minutes, you should really head out —”

Nancy and Steve look at each other.

“Screw it?” They say together. They share pleased smiles and meet in the middle for a kiss.

Jonathan asks if they’re sure. It’s when they both instantly respond with yes, Steve reassuring him they’d have more fun here than in a fancy restaurant, and Nancy telling him that they’re hanging out with him whether he likes it or not — it’s then, that Jonathan has to bite his lip to keep from doing stupid, like kissing them again. But he does entertain the thought of how easy it’d be to lean over and kiss them like before. Just not on the cheek this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: athena crying when she sees nancy because nancy's not holding her and she's very sad if she's not in nancy's arm is inspired by my baby cousin!! my aunt and uncle gave her an ankle bracelet that would jingle when she walked so when she was around the house, they knew where she was because she wouldn't always respond to her name, and she calls her older brother "the baby". fucking rockstar she is!!!
> 
> THINGS ARE HAPPENING!!! A LOT MORE THINGS WILL HAPPEN NEXT TIME!!!! HAVE A SPOOKY DAY!!!!! I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!!!


	9. Chapter 9

“I’ve got this under control. Don’t worry about me! Enjoy your date.”

Jonathan truly doesn’t know anyone else that can say so many untrue, worrying, and embarrassing things so quickly and all in one go. Murray has a gift.

“I would believe you if you weren’t _panting,” _Jonathan whispers into his phone, pacing the hallway of Nancy and Steve’s home. He can just barely hear their conversation, just the low, scratchiness of their voices like they’re trying to be quiet too. It’s kind of ridiculous that he can’t even tell what they’re saying but that he’s hearing their voices at all both help him breathe easier and sets loose a familiar flutter of a weird warm and giddy nervousness.

He’s an adult. He needs to get his shit together. This is serious.

“Please tell me you found a non-torture way to make the elf squeal and give up the portal’s location.”

“I’ve been showing him pictures of Alexei for the past two hours and pretending to cry until I actually did cry and now he knows a lot about that foot infection Alexei got when he was twenty-three and how he’s broken his left pinky twice and is weirdly ticklish there as a result.”

“Did that ... work?”

“Kind of. Yes? No. Sorta. It’s not the location, but I made some safe guesses based on what he said, and I don’t want to get your hopes up or —”

Jonathan can hear the shaky smile in Murray’s voice. His own heart stutters with anticipation and he stops pacing, every hair on his body standing. He shuts his eyes. The distant melody of Nancy and Steve’s intermingled and muffled laughter is the only thing tethering him, keeping his heart from beating its way out of his body. Soon, he’ll tell them. He’ll tell them, and Kali, and Robin about everything from Alexei and their investigation to the supernatural as the pulsing heartbeat of their small, strange town.

He’ll tell them everything. And from the sound of it, the breathless excitement he can feel from the other line, he’ll tell them soon.

“Tell me,” Jonathan says. 

“Okay, so. It’s definitely in the cabin. It’s been activated twice.”

“Activated as in —?”

An audible swallow from Murray’s line. “Oh, you know, someone was sucked into the portal and launched into another unknown, terrifying dimension which caused the same damage of a five-minute earthquake, according to the elf. And that, apparently, is the best-case scenario if you don’t fuck up. This happened two different times. Once on May 17th, 2007. Guess when the second one happened?”

“2014. When Nancy’s brother and his friends were abducted. After Brenner died—if he is actually dead — and when his body went missing. Right?” 

“Bingo.”

Jonathan sucks in a sharp breath. “Why isn’t there a record of it? The elf said it had Two earthquakes, restricted just to this town, isn’t that newsworthy?”

“That part, I’m not real sure about. But you can find out.”

“We’re not giving Athena an egg,” Nancy insists from back in the living room. “She’ll throw it.”

“No, no, trust me, the website said babies know it’s, like, something to be gentle with. Don’t you trust our daughter’s intellect?”

“What if she throws it at you?”

“Babe,” Steve says solemnly. “I’m willing to take that risk. For all three of us.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, you’re _very _comfortable with the idea of our daughter hitting me, you know.”

Nancy’s shriek-laughter comes out muffled like she’s hiding her face in Steve’s shoulder. “I was just telling you that’s exactly what I didn’t want. You’re such an egg.”

“Jonathan?” Murray says. “You there?”

Jonathan doesn’t realize he’s stopped pacing the length of the hallway and has his head leaned towards the living room door, a faint smile on his face, warmth sinking into his bones until Murray repeats his name. 

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I’ll ask Nance and Steve. Don’t worry. So what does this all mean? Alexei and Brenner were definitely involved, no question about that —” Jonathan speaks over the seemingly involuntary hiss Murray lets out, not missing a beat. “Maybe Alexei realized Brenner was a piece of shit, Brenner got ... rid of him, like that, used his own machine against him, but then what? You think Brenner actually died? But why forego his entire experiment, let the kids free, and risk his entire reputation?”

“Honestly, I have no idea. And this _piece of shit elf has no clue either_.”

“_Hey! Fuck off!” _

“I will when you tell me where the goddamn —”

“Okay, so,” Jonathan interrupts, pained. “Let’s put a pin in Brenner. That’s not a priority. What _is _is what the earthquakes mean. I’ll ask about it, but what else did the elf say?”

“Something about the source of it is here, Alexei’s cabin. How he knows, he won’t _fucking tell me either, _aside from some vague thing about how he can feel the energy’s source but can’t find it. And neither can whatever the fuck the _Blind Eye _is.”

“The what?”

“Think you can ask about that too?”

“Ask subtly about two earthquakes as well as whatever the Blind Eye is? Um. Okay. I can do it.” Probably not well but still. “Anything else?”

“Just more cryptic warnings about how careful we have to be. The thing’s stopped yelling at me that I’ll destroy the fabric of the universe and humanity altogether when I cried about Alexei’s homemade brownie recipes. I think that’s what gave it away that I was serious about just wanting this to bring home one person. Which is nice. What would be _nicer _is if it _told me where this fucking is _or either of the journals are —”

“_You make being punched in the face more tolerable. Bring back the tired boy. He didn’t swear and cry at me. He just hit me.”_

“I’m really sorry about that,” Jonathan says with feeling. “It won’t happen again. Assuming you don’t try and kill us again.”

_“I wasn’t trying to kill you! Just maim.”_

Steve’s voice carries into the hallway. “I’m gonna check up on Jonathan. Be right back, babe.” The distinct noise of his lips against Nancy’s forehead followed by a crack of joints and Steve’s accompanying grunt has Jonathan freeze.

“I know Ted isn’t picking up, but call him again,” Jonathan hastily whispers. “I’ll be there in five, okay?”

“No, I’ve got this. You have a good night, don’t worry about —”

“Shut up. I’m coming.”

“It’s New Year’s Eve, Jonathan. You’ve been working hard for the past four months. Take. A. Break. I’ve got this. I even made the elf mac and cheese!”

_“It was terrible.”_

“Ignore him. He asked for seconds.”

Steve’s footsteps grow louder. Jonathan’s grip on his phone tightens. “I’m with you. Stop being ridiculous and —”

“I swear to God, I’ll put the deadbolt on the cabin so you can’t come in,” Murray warns. “Just let yourself have this night, okay?”

Jonathan looks up even before Steve pops his head into the hallway. Steve hangs his head, lopsided to match his smile, and thrums his fingers along the edges of the wall.

“Hey, man,” Steve whispers. He points to Jonathan’s phone. “Everything okay?”

Jonathan hadn’t noticed he’d been clenching his jaw, hunching his shoulders, or even that he’d had a wrinkle in his forehead until it all smooths over at Steve’s soft and concerned voice and the sight of one of his floppy curls sticking out. 

Jonathan’s smile is instant. He reaches forward, his smile becoming wider and stupidly fond as Steve’s eyebrows furrow in confusion even though he still leans his head closer to Jonathan. Jonathan means to just push the curl out of the way. Quick. Without making a show of it. 

But he’s a moron, and Steve is _Steve _and right here and so lovely, and it’s just so easy to loop his finger around the lock of hair instead, for a beat longer than necessary, just to be gentle on purpose, just for that glint in Steve’s eyes, just because. Even easier to tuck it behind his ear, push it carefully but —

“Where the fuck did you go? I swear to god, if you’re driving me back to this cabin, I’m going to cry again.”

Jonathan startles. He jerks his hand away, his heartbeat ringing in his ears. He raises a single finger to Steve, indicating he just needs a minute, and hopes he’s not blushing. (He is.)

Steve nods rapidly. He doesn’t move to leave, though, just leans against the wall, his head bowed as he inspects his fingernails. It’s endearing but awkward in a way Jonathan isn’t used to.

He doesn’t let himself overthink it, though, quickly telling Murray, “Don’t worry. I’m good. Let me know if anything happens, okay? You’re doing great. And you’re _so _close.”

Jonathan can hear the smile in Murray’s voice as Murray replies, “_We’re _close, but forget about all of that for one day and have a good night off, kid” before he hangs up.

Jonathan rolls his eyes at the ceiling, biting back another smile. He deposits his phone in his back pocket before he approaches Steve. “Hey. Thanks for checking on me and waiting. Sorry that took longer, Will’s just ... freaking out about his next semester schedule.”

Steve perks up at Jonathan’s voice. He shakes his head and bumps Jonathan’s shoulder companionably. “Nah, don’t be sorry for being a good older brother. I think I’d be very useless if one of my younger siblings asked me for that kinda help.”

Jonathan raises an eyebrow. “You’re a teacher.”

“I teach children. No schedule worries there.”

“But that’s my point exactly.” Jonathan belatedly bumps Steve’s shoulder back. Partly to return the gesture, partly to steer them back to the living room to return to Nancy. “You’re good with kids. Even if you don’t see them often, that still counts when it comes to your siblings. You know that, don’t you?”

Steve’s face goes all quietly soft. He pushes Jonathan forward by the small of his back, the touch both light but forceful. His chin rests over Jonathan’s head. Jonathan’s pretty sure Steve’s just trying to hide whatever look must be lighting up his face.

Jonathan jabs his fingers into Steve’s stomach. It earns an involuntary squeal and Nancy’s eyebrows flying into her hairline when they approach her. 

“What did Steve say?” Nancy says knowingly. She’d changed into pyjamas not too long ago. A flannel that hangs loosely off of her and smells like Steve’s cologne, and grey sweatpants, the ends of which are folded neatly above her ankles. Her hair bobs as she scoots to the edge of the sofa, her foot tapping the space she’s left behind for them to sit. 

Steve’s walking directly behind Jonathan so Jonathan just takes the middle seat. “He didn’t say anything, actually, hence me poking him,” Jonathan explains.

Steve scoffs as he plops into his end of the sofa. “He poked me hard, Nance.”

Nancy’s eyes crinkle with a tiny smile that still brightens her entire face. “Want me to kiss it better?”

Steve’s dopey grin in return is just as sunny. “Just kiss me. Then tell Jonathan off. Then kiss me again, maybe. Please.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Jonathan protests, no real heat behind his voice. He settles between them. There’s not a lot of space on the sofa, cozy enough for two people, let alone three. But he can’t find it in himself to squeeze in on himself and make himself smaller. Not tonight. Not with the quiet hope flickering in the back of his chest, the persistent thought of _maybe, just maybe _that’s already enough for him to let himself wonder and daydream and think about how the good that he’s been given in Hawkins can be potentially made even better if he summoned up just a bit of bravery.

He hasn’t had anything to drink but he’s drunk off of everything else. The holiday season, the mundane magic of the final stretch of the year. Knowing that within days, Kali and Robin will finally, finally, _finally _have talked things out and be happy, together. And not just the knowledge but the feeling, right down to his core, that Alexei will be back, in months, and their efforts haven’t been for nothing.

And of course, being here, with Nancy and Steve, but also just. Nancy and Steve. How they cancelled their reservations for date night just to dick around with Jonathan in their living room. How close they’ve been all night, Nancy’s feet in his lap, Steve’s head against his shoulder. How they haven’t minded one bit when Jonathan returned the favour with a hand resting on Nancy’s bare ankle, the other in Steve’s hair.

How right now, they’ve all been sitting on the sofa for about fifteen seconds, and their knees are already all touching. Nancy’s hand is warm against his back, Steve’s steady against his shoulder. They lean over him to share a kiss, her smile against his, their laughs melding into one. Jonathan can’t help but take note that it’s not as though they’re acting like he isn’t here. He doesn’t feel ignored or uncomfortable or anything unpleasant. He feels weirdly acknowledged, from how anchored he is, how anchored _they_ make sure he is, between them. 

So. Maybe, right? 

Just maybe. 

And does he really need more than that just to try? Just to be a little brave?

When Nancy draws back, her free hand cradles Steve’s jaw. But her eyes flick to Jonathan’s.

His stomach swoops. His neck is flushed, his hands are sweaty, but he meets her eyes. “You gonna tell me off now? Even though your husband is a liar because all I did was —”

“What Nancy does,” Steve says. “She, uh, tells me off when I say anything implying I’m a shit brother. ‘S why I went kinda quiet. Good quiet, though. I appreciate it. You know that, right? Both of you?”

Jonathan decisively lays his hand over Steve’s and squeezes gently. “’Course.”

And Nancy’s just looking between them, open adoration all over her face, her mouth hung open like her fondness is short-circuiting her brain. 

Steve’s forehead wrinkles. “Did I — did we _break _you?”

“I think so,” Jonathan mock-whispers to Steve.

Nancy rolls her eyes but she’s still smiling at them. “Complete opposite, actually.”

And that effectively breaks Steve. 

And Jonathan, but only just a little. 

Okay, no, by a lot too.

Nancy grins victoriously, snuggling back in her end of the sofa with her knees hugged to her chest. “Look, I can do it too. Should I time how long it takes both of you to form a complete sentence?”

“I ... you just ...” Steve trails off, his eyes wide with amazement. 

Jonathan doesn’t bother trying, knowing that sentences will have given up on him for at least a few minutes. He doesn’t bother hiding his stupidly wide smile, though, that has his eyes crinkling and the stretch of it felt in his cheeks. Nancy deserves to take credit for that and see just how easily she can turn both men into heart-shaped puddles.

She pokes Jonathan’s cheek, foots Steve’s thigh. “I can be cheesy too. You both very make it easy.”

“Aw, Nance,” Steve gushes.

“Does that count as a full sentence?” Jonathan surprises himself as he says it. Of course, teasing Steve Harrington overrides anything else, including his own flustered sentimentality.

Nancy looks surprised too. She raises her hand and they high-five for his speedy motor skills. “Nah, doesn’t count,” she says. “No verb and no —”

“Predicate,” Steve says. “Teacher-brain.”

“Does _that _count?” Jonathan asks. He shares a long look with Nancy before they nod at the same time.

Steve sputters out a tired laugh that he belatedly hushes into the back of his head after catching sight of the baby monitor on the coffee table. He seems to give up on speaking altogether as he stretches his arms above his head and yawns.

“Should we call it a —” Jonathan’s cut off by Steve unceremoniously slumping forward and draping himself over Nancy and Jonathan’s laps. “— night?”

Jonathan and Nancy instantly shift over, taking up the space Steve left behind upon choosing both of them as his preferred seats. 

“I think he’s definitely done for the night.” Nancy tilts Steve’s head so he’s not face-first into her lap anymore. 

He hums, his eyes shut, and nuzzles along Nancy’s stomach. He curves his knees on Jonathan’s left, effectively hooking both Jonathan and Nancy into the sofa. 

“Very clingy sleeper, huh?” But Jonathan just hooks his hand behind Steve’s knee, brings him closer. He leans his head towards Nancy the same time she leans her head towards his; he ends up with his cheek against the top of her head and her head slotted against the space between his shoulder and neck. It’s all very close, all very nice, all very _easy_ in a way that not many things are. He thinks vaguely about the life he already has and the life just a few steps beyond it, the life he could have here, on this sofa, with a half-asleep middle school teacher draped over him, a Sheriff humming against his shoulder, and the baby monitor blinking at them, the faint and reassuring noise of an eleven-month-old baby’s breathing passing through. 

“Hey, Nance?”

Her hair tickles his neck as she shifts just a little closer. “Yeah, Jonathan?”

“Thank you.” He taps his pinky against hers from where it’s slipped into Steve’s hair. “Thank you for ... this.” 

Nancy doesn’t ask him to specify. She doesn’t make him say it, put words to feelings he’s never completely felt before, like she doesn’t want to make him feel embarrassed and like she doesn’t need the clarification. He’s not surprised that she, of course, just gets what he means. But he is touched.

She just loops her pinky around his, a thread of Steve’s hair caught between their fingers, and murmurs back, “Thank _you _for being here. If you’re tired, you know you can spend the night, right? It’s late. You’re tired. Roads aren’t safe at night with the weather and with this time of year.”

“Like. There’s more crime?”

“Mm, something like that. It’s just ... busier, outdoors. We have more officers patrolling. Lots of drunk drivers and disorderly conduct. Nothing to worry about but I’d rather you not drive out in all this tonight. Plus, Hawkins’ residents go hard on New Year’s Eve Eve.”

“You’re just making things up. That’s not a thing.”

“Is too! We also have a Halloween in the summer —”

“You guys don’t celebrate Halloween _on _Halloween? But this year had decorations and trick-or-treaters and you dressed Athena as infant Yoda.”

“First of all, can you please stop calling him infant Yoda when you know damn well that’s not what he’s called.”

“Not when you know damn well it makes me laugh whenever you get annoyed about it.”

Nancy pulls back from his arm to fix him with her narrowed eyes. “Okay. The Joy Division sucks.”

“They’re not called _the _Joy Division, they’re just — okay, you already know that, and I already know you like them.” Jonathan smiles sleepily at her, terribly endeared by how she just responds with a nose-scrunch and a begrudging nod. “Back to summer Halloween?”

“It’s not Halloween in the summer. It’s just ... another Halloween. Two. It’s a small town quirk like going hard on the thirtieth of December.”

“So why don’t you guys ... _go hard _for New Year’s Eve Eve too?”

She shrugs, sinking back into the sofa to tip her head against his arm. He doesn’t think twice about wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “It’s a form of rebellion,” she mumbles. 

“Well, I’m honoured to be rebelling with you all tomorrow.”

“Mm, we’re honoured too. Thanks for offering the cabin too. The cafe’s usually our go-to place, but they’re trying a new holiday, all-hours kind of —”

Oh. He’d completely forgotten about New Year’s Eve at Alexei’s cabin with an _elf _in the basement. That feels a bit problematic. 

But his dumb, late-night brain can’t think of a good reason to explain the sudden change. Maybe some miracle will break way by tomorrow evening where they’ll suddenly obtain all the information they need and get to release the elf back into the ... forest? Wherever it lives. It’ll be a dick move to cancel the day of but right now, he can’t think of a decent excuse.

If it comes down to it, he’ll cancel. But he hopes not. It’s nice, a little New Year’s Eve celebration at the cabin.

(Athena will be spending the night at Karen’s home. Mike and his school friends — Jonathan still isn’t sure if these are the same ones Brenner kidnapped nor has he found a subtle, non-dickish way to ask — will be there too, all eager to watch Athena as well, which is why Nancy and Steve felt better about leaving their daughter at the Wheeler’s, knowing Karen won’t be alone for the night.)

And it feels like a good way to bring in the new year. With four wonderful people he’s met this year, in the cabin of someone he’s determined to meet next year, and the culmination of Alexei’s work, and by extension, Alexei, _somewhere _in the floorboards, waiting to be found. 

It’s a good omen, isn’t it? He’s guardedly optimistic about it, his mind telling him to be _careful _and not get his hopes up, while his heart’s telling him to let his hopes run free and wild. 

Either way, that hope is there and it’s —

Well, it’s just everything.

Nancy’s sudden yawn brings him back to himself. “Think I’m gonna fall asleep too.”

He notices it then, the way his eyelids keep fluttering, the yawn that’s building in the back of his throat. “Me too.”

Steve begins to snore into Nancy’s lap.

“I can carry him,” Jonathan suggests. He sinks his hand further into Steve’s hair, delighted by how it instantly stops Steve’s snores.

She seems to pick up on it, judging from her half-smile aimed at Jonathan’s hand in Steve’s hair. She strokes Steve’s forehead. “We’ll do it together. But in a minute.”

“Yeah, a minute,” Jonathan agrees. His eyelids droop but he doesn’t resist it, letting his eyes close. “Jus’ a minute.”

“Just a minute,” she echoes. But she closes her eyes and carefully tucks her legs behind Steve’s head, further cozying herself. 

And he shifts further down, uses her arm as a pillow, sighs contently when she slots her arm around him. He doesn’t remember much else. There’s a fuzzy split-second that he’ll recall in the morning of Steve’s snores, Nancy’s elbow poking his shoulder-blade, and someone’s knees — he won’t be sure of whose — pressed up against his, before he’d have drifted off completely and easily, feeling safe, comfortable, and entirely at peace. 

.

.

.

They wake up at the same time the next morning.

Or rather, Steve’s half-way buried underneath them, tries to but ultimately can’t subtly and quietly disentangle from them, and swears loudly when he ends up rolling over the sofa, bringing Jonathan down with him, and causing Nancy to land over both boys.

“Honey,” Nancy grumbles into the floor. “What the fuck?”

Jonathan mumbles his agreement with Nancy’s question. He rubs his neck, hissing as he notices the painful crick, and rolls his shoulders to work through that painful ache.

Steve groans. “I tried to be stealthy. In my defence —”

Nancy shushes him with a kiss to his chin. “It’s okay. You didn’t mean to. Sweet gesture. I should’ve woken you up last night so we wouldn’t have ended up falling asleep here anyway.”

“Nah, that’s not your fault, babe.” Steve tips her face up, presses a kiss to the bridge of her nose. “Sweet of you to let me sleep.”

And then they’re both looking at Jonathan, who’s still hissing because what the fuck, it _hurts _to even move his head.

“I’m sorry for ... something.” Jonathan sits up, but nope, that hurts, so he lies back down immediately. “I’ll think of what for in a second.”

“Mm, just a second.” Nancy settles more firmly atop them. She nestles her head against Steve’s chest and slings her hand over Jonathan’s forearm.

“Just a second,” Steve echoes, his eyes slipping shut.

“One second.” Jonathan tilts his head against Steve’s. Lifts his arm up until his fingertips brush Nancy’s. And closes his eyes. “God, we’re such liars.” 

They actually get up about a half an hour later, right as Athena starts ... not exactly crying. It’s more like she’s shouting, continuously, the noise magnified from how they can hear it themselves and by the baby monitor.

This seems to be common from how Nancy and Steve immediately sit up, meet each other’s eyes, and say, “Morning call.”

Jonathan takes his time to get up, though, happy for an extra few moments on the carpet to just observe this part of Nancy and Steve’s routine, a piece in the life they’ve built together, for the first time. It reminds him of life back home, with his mom and brother, how chaotically functional their mornings were. Making breakfasts with Will half an hour before having to leave for class. Forcing their mom to at least eat a banana before she left. Figuring out who would be back home at what time, who can pick up who, who needs this set of keys right before they all left for the day, all while ignoring the schedule pinned to the fridge made for this very reason. 

He realizes then, absurdly, that this is his first New Year’s Eve without them. He’s not sure when he can call them. Before tonight, definitely, but after or before he checks up on the elf held hostage in his basement? He’ll figure it out. He always sort of needs to hear their voices, see their pixelated faces on his phone’s screen as his mother speaks way too loudly, as if compensating for the distance between them, while his brother lovingly tells Jonathan to “get closer to the camera, stop hiding your face!” 

But that need is especially stronger now on the last day of the year. He can’t mark this ending without them. 

And when he thinks about how Hopper and Jane will be on the call, too, how she’s finally gotten that nose-ring she’d talked about at Thanksgiving, and how apparently Hopper had let Will shave his head a few days ago — this, Jonathan refuses to believe without photo evidence which Will refuses to provide — he needs to call them even more.

As he searches around the floor, rooting past the throw-pillows littered by his feet for his phone, Nancy touches his shoulder. “You can go back to sleep if you want. Take our bed. Unless you want to witness —”

And in what has to the dorkiest thing Jonathan has ever seen, Nancy and Steve snap their heads to look at each other and say, “The morning call” with such precise timing that it must have been rehearsed. 

Jonathan's heart squeezes. Dear god, he is _so_ gone for them.

“I don’t want to intrude,” he starts to say, tentatively rising to his feet.

Steve shakes his head as he rubs his red eyes. “Dude. I mean this in the nicest way. Shut the fuck up.”

“Don’t want to intrude,” Nancy repeats with a scoff. She pulls her scrunchie out of her hair and pats her messy hair down. “Jonathan?”

Jonathan knows he’s about to be lovingly insulted. He’s already smiling. “Nancy?”

“We want you to intrude.”

“Nancy?”

“Jonathan?”

“Oh my god, why are you both like this, just _say it_,” Steve mutters into his hands but he’s smiling too.

Jonathan jerks his head down the hall as Athena’s ‘morning call’ grows more infrequent but louder. “I’m happy to intrude then. Let’s go.”

Steve, who just fifteen seconds ago looked like a sleepy zombie except even more dead, instantly slips his hands into Nancy and Jonathan’s and drags them towards Athena’s room with a delighted, “We’re coming, darling!”

Nancy and Jonathan catch each other’s eyes and share endeared grins. He can just tell that her fondness for her husband and daughter has fully woken her up and energized her for the day. The same way it’s done for him.

.

.

.

“Hey, so I’m helping with a piece on the alleged supernatural phenomena of Hawkins, and just wanted to ask you a couple of questions if that’s cool?”

He’d thought of the excuse all morning. While they greeted Athena, who’s especially giggly first thing in the morning, having spent a solid two minutes laughing after Nancy yawned and accidentally spit on Steve’s shirt. While he brushed his teeth with a new toothbrush Steve had procured from the bathroom. While he made a pot of coffee, the only thing for breakfast Steve and Nancy allowed him to contribute to while they handled everything else. 

It feels like a good excuse. He’s actually a little proud of it.

Until Nancy raises her eyebrows between a sip of coffee and asks, “They’re asking their photographer to research?”

Okay. His pride dips, just a little, until he comes back with: “Well, my position is technically a photojournalist_, _so it’s not entirely out of my bounds.”

Across the dining table, Steve nods as he slurps from the milk in his bowl of cereal. 

“Plus,” Jonathan adds, trying to really sell it, “with all of Murray’s insistence that this town _is _as strange as the internet makes it out to be, I am a little curious. Figured it might be fun to see for myself and who better to start with. Right?”

“Right. Steve clinks his bowl against Nancy’s plate. “That makes sense. Right, Nance?”

“Right,” Nancy says slowly. Jonathan hides his frown behind a bite of scrambled eggs, another _maybe _popping into his mind, because why else would Nancy look this dubious?

Until she bumps his foot from underneath the table and the easy, partly teasing smile he’s grown so used to spreads across her lips. “Sounds good then. Ask away, Mr. Photojournalist.”

Jonathan forcibly shakes off the weird feeling that something — or rather, considering the state of literally everything in his life right now, something _else _is off. 

He pulls his phone out from the pockets of the sweatpants Steve had given him to change into. It’s too long for his legs, baggy and too big for him, but that paradoxically just makes it fit even better. “Thank you both, very much.”

“Thank _you_!” Athena exclaims from her high-chair. Her speaking now is wonderfully weird. It’s not like she’s only now kind of understanding what they’re saying, but it’s only now that Jonathan realizes she does. 

Jonathan leans over to readjust her bib from where she’s yanked it out the way. “Obviously, the best thing about this town is you, so I’ll be sure to interview you when it comes time for that piece.” 

She laughs, a high shriek that fills his heart. She also swats at his hand. Two very contradictory actions but he’s taking it as a win.

“She is the best,” Nancy agrees with a dazed look in her eyes. “Like. We did _that_.” She and Steve high-five without looking at each other. 

“You’ll definitely be interviewed for that article.” Jonathan sips his black coffee before he adds, “What sounds better? When she wins her second Nobel Prize or, like, when she gets her first steps?”

“First steps,” Nancy says. “That way, your article will get big again when she wins her awards. But first: ask us your questions.”

“Right, right.” Jonathan smooths his hands, which are already starting to sweat, so off to a great start, over his knees before he clears his throat. “Okay. So. I have a question about 2007. Namely, if there were any natural disasters? Something restrained just to your town, possibly?”

“Uhhh, there was this weird thing in like, spring of that year,” Steve says. He props his elbows up onto the table, scratches underneath his jaw. “You remember, Nance?”

“Think so. I remember trying to sleep that night but ...” She trails off, staring into the bottom of her mug. “Oh. Hm.”

“Everything okay?” Jonathan frowns, unsure of what’s wrong. She doesn’t look upset, just confused, but he can’t place why.

Steve touches her arm with a wrinkle between his eyebrows. “Nance?”

She looks up, startled like he’d ripped her from her thoughts. “Oh, no, I’m fine, I was just thinking. Now that you bring it up, it was really weird. I was trying to sleep that night, and it suddenly feels like I’m floating off my bed? And it’s dark in my room, but I can still make out everything, and it seems like everything’s floating too, and that goes on for a minute, and I can’t tell if I’m dreaming or not, until everything hit the floor again. The weird thing is everyone has a story like this from that night, but we just kind of wrote it out. The news reported it as the result of _construction, _from a centuries’ underground tunnel or something, but that sounds like such bull —” She cuts herself off with a sweet smile aimed at Athena. “Bull. It sounds like bull.”

Steve rubs Nancy’s back, still nodding even though she’s done speaking. “We were thirteen when it happened. Kind of easy to just ... go along with it, because the entire town was, and if the news said that’s what it was, then, of course, that’s what happened. I don’t remember it. Well, I remember waking up _on the floor _with a goddamn bump in the back of my head.”

Jonathan feels a buzzing in his veins. “That is really weird. Do you happen to remember the date?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve answers. “I had to go to the doctor’s the next morning. Kid’s first concussion. There were _so _many people with injuries like mine which was really ... really scary, honestly. But yeah. I remember the date. I went to the ER on the 18th of May, so it must have happened on the —”

“The 17th,” Jonathan says. He can barely hear himself over the pounding of his heart. “Okay, that’s — wow, okay, and a second one, in 2014?”

“Hm,” Nancy says again, wearing the same confused look on her face. She bites her lip and suddenly that confused look is transformed, edged into determination. “It wasn’t exactly like that. But there was this car accident. No one died, thank god, but it happened right ... right around your street, actually. It was late at night and both drivers reported losing complete control over their cars. Said they were floating until they weren’t and slammed into each other. But their toxicology reports were released. They were both astoundingly drunk.”

“Floating,” Steve repeats. “They said exactly that? Floating like whatever happened in 2007?”

“Mhm. It didn’t seem strange when it happened, right? Because of everything that was going on at the time, it barely registered.”

“What was going on?” Jonathan asks past the lump in his throat, even though he already has the answer.

Nancy’s smile is thin-lipped, more tired than anything else. “It happened a few days after my brother came home.”

.

.

.

“Alright. Who do you think got you that?”

“Hm, I’m not sure, Steve,” Kali says, holding up one side of the white and apparently glow-in-the-dark mug, displaying a picture of freshmen Kali and Steve. “Who do _you _think got me?”

Steve grins, his knees tucked into his chest, feet bouncing against the wooden floor of Alexei’s cabin. “You tell me.”

Nancy leans in and hooks her chin over Kali’s shoulder, peering closer at the mug. “It’s obviously Robin.”

“It’s definitely me,” Robin says from across their circle. “Or it would be if I didn’t know how to wrap a gift properly. That tape-job was awful.”

Steve makes a face. “I did a great job wrapping the gift.”

“Oh, Steve.” Jonathan sighs, tearing the head of his gingerbread cookie off. “Can’t believe you gave it away like that. You were _so _close to fooling her.”

“So close,” Kali agrees. She strokes her index finger down the mug, holding it with care. Kali and Steve look so tiny in that picture. Kali’s hair is down to her waist, not dyed, and pulled back in a braid. Steve’s only a few inches taller than her, so clearly this was any pre-growth spurt, and his hair is in a buzzcut. “Thank you, Steve. I love it.”

“Wait, there’s more! I’m not that much of a narcissistic asshole. Got you something else too. Look in the mug.”

After she digs through the scraps of lined paper, she finds a ring at the bottom. Tears spring to her eyes. She throws her arms around Steve before she even puts the ring on or lowers the mug and he laughs wetly in return, his long arms looping around her waist.

“It’s an almost exact replica of this ring that belonged to Kali’s mom before she passed,” Robin explains to Jonathan. But her eyes, shining and bright, remain on Kali. “Kali’s aunt is, like, really close to Kali’s age, so Kali let her have the ring.”

“I know it’s not the exact same, especially since your mom didn’t own it, but,” Steve starts to say.

Kali interrupts him and tackles him to the floor. “It _is _the exact same. It looks the same and the fact that you gave it to me means — oh dear god, I’m going to cry. You’re making me cry.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Nancy says, sniffing, “you’re not the only one he’s made cry.”

Jonathan’s cheeks are suddenly wet. “Seconded.”

“Goddamn, Steve.” Robin’s voice breaks into a wet laugh as she takes the tissue box next to their bowl of chips and passes it to Nancy. “You’ve got everyone crying.”

“I regret nothing,” Steve murmurs, his chin over Kali’s head, his fingers running softly through her hair. 

As soon as Jonathan thinks he’s stopped crying, he glances at Kali’s ring, a silver band with a flower carved, a carnation, maybe, and starts tearing up all over again.

Once everyone’s finally collected themselves, it’s Jonathan’s turn to open his gift. Everyone else has opened theirs. 

So even though Jonathan already knows who got him, he still taps his neatly-wrapped gift with furrowed eyebrows and says, “I wonder who it could be.” 

Nancy bumps his knee with hers. “No idea. Unwrap it so we can guess.”

He'd carefully unwrap it, but he’s buzzing with too much excitement to take his time, so he rips right through it. 

And immediately feels his heart swell three sizes bigger.

“I know the camera at the Post isn’t yours to keep, which is stupid,” Nancy explains. “And you told me the camera you have is one you got for your twentieth birthday, and six years seems like a good time for an update. Not that this is better than the one your mom and brother gave you or anything, and not that you have to use it, but it might be nice to have an extra camera.”

“That’s why I asked you about the best camera to buy for taking pics of Athena.” Steve grins, smug, as he tips the box closer to Jonathan, who hasn’t moved a muscle. “Smart, right? You didn’t suspect anything?”

“No,” Jonathan says, stunned. He inspects the box, rapidly reading all the words on the side facing him, and swallows. “Nance, this is really nice. And fancy. And expensive.” But he already hears her protest before she even opens her mouth so he lets himself _not _worry about how much she spent on him, just for tonight, and turns to face her. He wraps his arms around the camera protectively, even though it’s still in the box. “Thank you. So much. I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. That look on your face is all I wanted. And now I’ve got it.” And since she’s apparently not finished making Jonathan fall even harder for her, she scoots forward and kisses his cheek. 

It all happens so quickly that Jonathan can’t help but dart a panicked look at Steve. 

But Steve’s just rocking back and forth, still clutching his knees, pure warmth in his smile aimed just for Nancy and Jonathan.

Again, that _maybe _rushes back to Jonathan as he touches the spot Nancy had kissed as a flush colours his face. He gives her a crooked smile. The only reason he lets go of the camera is to set it carefully behind him before he opens his arms and meets Nancy half-way for a hug.

“I’m still gonna say thank you, though,” Jonathan murmurs by her ear. She hugs him tighter. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“Mhm. But there’s more. Check underneath the box.”

He pulls back with his eyebrows raised at her. But she just pushes his shoulder, gesturing to the box, and around them, Steve, Kali, and Robin call for him to hurry up.

“It was a group collaboration,” Nancy says. “So they’re all especially proud.”

“Our finest work,” Robin insists. “Also took us way back to our group project days. Remember junior year, that fucking pasta we had to make for Family Studies? We went a week without talking.”

Jonathan swallows back a laugh. “You guys argued over a group project where you just got to _cook_?”

Kali shudders, wrapping her arms around herself. Steve pats her back consolingly. “It was a dark week,” she recalls. “Cooking is not our group’s strength. I think you might like our group-work this time, though.”

And with all eyes on him, Jonathan finally lifts the box and peers at the bottom where a black piece of folded card-stock paper is taped. The front reads his full name in white ink with a red heart next to it.

Robin’s foot slides across their group-circle and pokes Jonathan. “Look inside.”

If anyone notices that his hand is slightly trembling, they don’t call him out on it. 

“Oh,” he says quietly. He can hear everyone’s collective exhale when he grins and runs his fingers over the smaller, multi-coloured, folded pieces of card-stock glued inside. Each has a tab for him to flick open. There are four, one with each of their names on it. Robin’s is green. Steve’s is blue. Nancy’s is yellow. And Kali’s is purple. 

He flicks the top left one — Robin’s — open and finds a paragraph in her handwriting. 

“I asked everyone to write a little something nice to you,” Nancy explains. “We all got carried away hence having to glue other pieces of paper in. Ooh, look at the back! That was a last-minute addition.”

So he carefully pries the pieces of tape at the corners so he can see the back. He immediately bursts into laughter. Even though they all probably know what it is, judging from everyone’s matching, knowing smiles, he raises the card to show them anyway. “It’s a hexagon! Our faces, on a hexagon!”

“I’m still undecided on how much I like my analogy yesterday to us all as a hexagon,” Kali says. “But Nance needed something for the backside and the hexagon worked.”

He agrees. It does work: a drawn-in hexagon, outlined in orange, with cut-up and glued pictures of all six of their faces, Athena included.

He’s not sure what to do with himself. He feels warm, everywhere, and he can’t stop smiling, and he can’t _begin _to explain how much this, and they, all mean to him.

“Oh my god, you broke him, Nance,” Steve says in awe.

“No, babe.” Nancy points to everyone. “We _all _broke him.” 

Right when Jonathan laughs, his phone blares. He doesn’t have to check the screen to know it’s Murray. “One second,” he says, scrambling to his feet as he grabs his phone from his pocket with the hand not clutching his phone. He hops around the mess of wrapping paper, everyone’s gifts, bowls of chips, and half-finished boxes of chocolate scattered around them. “Be right back! I, uh, I love you all very much!”

“Aw, we love you too!”

“Love you _very_ much!”

“Tell your brother we said hi!”

“And wish him a happy new year!”

He half-jogs to his kitchen and stops when he’s nose-to-nose with the screen door to the backyard. It’s a little after eight pm. Tonight’s snowfall was scheduled for midnight but a deep layer of snow has already coated the grass in his backyard. 

He answers his phone with a breathless, “You okay?”

“Yup,” Murray answers. “Just calling to let you know it fell asleep and is now drooling over my couch.”

“Okay, well, I’m really sorry about that, but I told you we could keep _him _here —”

“No, you had a little party, you couldn’t miss that!”

“So, you’re not calling to make me feel guilty?”

“Oh my god. No. I’m calling to see if you’ve asked about the Blind Eye thing.”

“I was just about to.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“Okay, I’m about to right now,” Jonathan corrects. “Sorry, I got distracted with —”

“Don’t apologize. The thing’s asleep anyway, so there’s not really a rush.”

“Yeah, okay. Don’t worry. I’ll ask. You, uh ... you having a good night?”

Murray chuckles. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got some wine and am due to start watching _When Harry met Sally _in half an hour. Go ... I don’t know what kids in their twenties do these days. Drink your liver away? _Dance_?”

“We’re gonna play UNO and listen to music from our childhood and wear those cone-shaped party hats to celebrate the night.”

“Lovely. Alright, talk soon. Enjoy the night.”

“Mm, you too.” Jonathan ends the call, takes in a deep breath, and jogs back to the living room. Since he’s been gone, someone started music from their phone, everyone singing along to Evanescence, and Freddie seems to have woken up from upstairs because he’s now licking Kali’s ankle while Robin pets him.

“Hey guys,” Jonathan blurts out. “I have a work-related question. That was my partner on this piece, Ronald.”

“Your coworker is calling you on _New Year’s Eve_?” Robin asks through a mouthful of chocolate.

“Yeah, he’s a real tool.” He isn’t. Ronald is a nice old man with a glass bowl of butterscotch on his desk for everyone to take as they please. He wears big glasses and never shuts up about his grandchildren. Jonathan silently apologizes in his head and promises to buy Ronald a bigger glass bowl for his desk before they return to work. “Anyways, he wants me to ask around the cafe, get a public consensus, but I hope you guys can help me out first?”

“‘Course,” Steve says as he tries hooking up his pocket-sized speaker to the phone in his hand. “What’s it about?”

Jonathan carefully watches their faces as he says, “Oh, something about a blind eye?”

Steve drops the speaker. Robin coughs on the chocolate she’d been chewing. Nancy inspects the hole in her sock. 

Kali’s the only one who doesn’t look extremely fucking weird, her eyebrows raising as she taps her chin. “_The _blind eye, you mean?” 

“Uh, not really sure.” Jonathan returns back to his spot in the circle, between Nancy and Kali. He doesn’t know what to make of why everyone else is acting the way they are but since Kali’s the only one acknowledging him, he focuses on her. “But it rings a bell?”

“Mhm. Group of weirdos like Murray, except they’re weirder. Really into the town lore. But they just get in the way of everything.”

“Extremely useless,” Robin adds with a sour look. “And way too _into _the town’s proclivity for freak-accidents.”

“Not much more to it,” Nancy supplies, looking up from her foot to Jonathan. “I can tell you more about the number of arrests I’ve made for those guys breaking and entering and how many 911 calls are made because they practice shooting not in the woods but like. In their suburban neighbourhoods.” 

Steve throws a chip into his mouth. “’S true. There are like six members we know of, and they’re the hill-billy type, but rumour has it there are more. Like. The _mayor_. People high up. We even thought Nancy’s dad might’ve been in it.”

“Turns out he really is just asleep by nine and hunts deer.” Nancy scowls. “My dad’s the fucking worst.”

Everyone mumbles in agreement, both for her dad and their own. 

“So.” Jonathan leans against his coffee table, his hands folded in his lap with his card in between them. “It’s just a bunch of conspiracists, not that different from my boss, but who are even more conspiracy-y and who no one actually buys?”

“Basically,” Nancy says. “They just get in the way.”

Jonathan doesn’t think they’re lying. He also doesn’t think they’re telling the complete truth either.

But before he can say anything, his phone rings again, and it’s actually his brother this time, and Steve notices the three wrapped gifts underneath the coffee table and asks, “Did we miss some presents?”

Jonathan trips up to his feet, eager to answer the call. He’s one foot out of the living room when he calls over his shoulder, “Those are all for you, Kali knows what I’m talking about since I gave her hers already, it’s nothing big, okay, be right back!”

He’s back in the kitchen, staring into his backyard, when he answers Will’s call. Back in the living room, he hears everyone swearing softly over the sound of wrapping paper being torn. Here, Freddie brushes up against Jonathan’s knees, having followed him in here. Will, Joyce, Hopper, and Jane’s voices all blend together as they shout, “Happy New Year’s Eve!” on the line. 

And Jonathan's just so happy that it’s all he feels.

.

.

.

“They’re totally fucking right now,” Steve announces.

Next to him on the cabin floor, Nancy pulls the sleeves of her sweater over her hands. “Definitely. I _knew _that was why Kali stopped seeing Heather but my question is, do we think this is their first time?”

“Ooh,” Steve says. “Not sure.”

“My question is —” Jonathan taps his phone. His screen lights up with the time, 11:42 pm, and the message Kali had sent him forty minutes ago. _Be back in twenty minutes. I swear. Just want to give her *that* part of her gift now. _He’d doubted it as soon as he got the text and he’s happy to have been right. “Do we think they’ll be back in time for the countdown?”

“No,” Nancy says while Steve says, “I hope so. But probably not.”

Jonathan admittedly feels a little disappointed by that. But then he just looks around him, at where he is now, sitting with Nancy and Steve on the floor, their legs pressed together, elbows constantly bumping, and leaned against the sofa, Freddie curled up by their feet, their gifts all on the coffee table, and the steady fall of snow outside. 

Still a really great way to end the year and welcome in the next. 

“Good for them,” Jonathan says. “Sucks they’ll miss it, but can’t say I’m not still really glad I’m here.” The smiles he earns from Nancy and Steve are blinding and make it easy to just keep going. So he scoots backwards until he’s sitting in front of them, lets the flicker of hope in his chest spark and spark and spark. “I don’t just mean here with you guys, but in Hawkins, too. It’s been — I don’t think there’s a word for it, you know? And you two and Athena especially are why.” His heart starts to rattle around in his chest. 

Is he doing this? 

Jonathan looks at Steve’s hand resting comfortably on Jonathan’s knee, at Nancy’s foot pressed right against his, and how they’re both holding hands with each other. He looks at the card that he’s kept on his lap the entire night. He hasn’t read the paragraphs yet, but he’d glanced at them. Nancy and Steve’s were the longest. 

Maybe that just means they’re all really close friends. 

Maybe not.

Maybe he can deal with the damage when things go wrong after he does this and their friendship is strong enough that there won’t be much damage at all.

Maybe there won’t be any damage at all.

Maybe he just needs to find out.

“I don’t know how to say this, and I’m sorry if this changes everything, but I think I should tell you that —”

“Wait,” Steve blurts out. “You can’t do it _first_. Nance, he’s doing it first —”

“Well, I’m _trying _to do it first, but you just interrupted — wait, what?” Jonathan blinks, recognizing panic, bright and bold, on their faces. He opens his mouth but Nancy rises up on her knees and presses two fingers against his lips. 

“Let us go first,” Nancy says. “Please?”

Jonathan shakes his head. “Are we talking about the same thing?”

Steve joins Nancy up on his knees and scratches his hair. “Oh god, this will be insanely awkward if not. Were you about to, like, confess your feelings and stuff?”

And because it’s weird that Jonathan’s the only one sitting on the floor, he sits up on his knees too. He waits until Nancy lowers her fingers to answer. “Uh, yeah?” He’s so fucking confused but then Nancy and Steve share sunny grins, and —

Oh.

“Wait, I want to go first,” Jonathan says. “I _started_.”

Nancy’s mouth falls open. “No way. _We_ had a script.”

“You snooze, you lose.”

“We were not _snoozing,” _Steve says haughtily. “We were gonna do it next Saturday. It’s on our calendar! We’ve rehearsed! Let us have this!”

“No way, _I’m _doing this alone, you guys have twice as many people and more time, I feel like I should really —” The rest of his argument, and his argument in general, is lost when Nancy grabs both sides of Jonathan’s face and promptly closes the gap between their mouths. It’s brief and chaste, but they’re both smiling into it. And when the initial wave of shock that Nancy’s kissing him wears off, he cups the back of her head and yanks Steve forward by the collar.

Jonathan draws back, his forehead against Nancy’s. “Okay. You win.”

Nancy bites her smile. She runs her finger against the slope of Jonathan’s jaw like he’s something to be marvelled at. “Hell yeah, I did.”

“You’ve got some of my wife’s lipstick on your mouth, dude.” Steve has his chest to Nancy’s back, an arm around her waist, while his other hand hovers in the air like he can’t decide if he wants to grab Jonathan or let Jonathan grab him.

So Jonathan happily decides for him, lacing their fingers together, and says, “Take it off for me then.” Except he leans forward and kisses him first anyway, and Steve laughs into his mouth, and Nancy’s still holding his face, and Freddie’s tail hits Jonathan’s foot before Freddie pads away, back upstairs.

And nothing about this feels real, except it is. This is somehow his life, and he’s not sure what he’s done to deserve it, just that he’s determined to be worthy of it anyway. 

Best New Years ever.

Except there’s still ten minutes of the year left.

.

.

.

Jonathan’s phone rings again. 

Nancy pulls away from him, her hand on his chest, and only then that Jonathan realizes how red her mouth is. “Needa get that?”

“Nah,” Jonathan says but he frowns when Steve retracts his hand from Nancy’s thigh and his mouth from Jonathan’s shoulder to get up. “Hey, where you going?”

And it’s only then that Jonathans realize how _messy _Steve’s hair is and how much of Nancy’s lipstick is on his mouth and neck. Steve stands and marches to the corner of the room where Jonathan’s phone somehow ended up. 

“In case it’s your family or something.” Steve picks up the phone and squints. “Why’s Murray callin’ you right now?”

Murray wouldn’t be calling so late tonight if it wasn’t important. Jonathan scrambles to his feet and takes the phone from Steve. “I’m sure it’s nothing, I, uh, thanks for getting it, just, let me see if he’s okay?” He answers the phone then and there, which. Gigantic mistake.

“GUESS WHAT THIS FUCKER LIED ABOUT?”

A pained “please” is all Jonathan can get in before Murray continues.

“He was _there _the second time the portal was activated! Taking his snowman on a walk!”

“_I didn’t think it was important,” _the elf insists in the background. 

“Ask him what he saw.” Jonathan begins to pace the corners of the room, absentmindedly touching his red mouth. 

“_What everyone else saw! Everything had risen into the air, except for some of the trees —”_

“_Some _of the trees?” Jonathan can’t help but interject heatedly. He’s pretty sure he knows exactly what the elf’s referring to: the three trees on either side of his backyard’s fence. “You didn’t think _that _was important?”

“_Why would it be!? I don’t know!”_

“What about the cabin?” Murray asks. 

_“What about the cabin? Obviously, it lifted up into the air too.”_

“Oh my god,” Murray sighs, “you are so stupid.”

_“Okay, if it’s so important, then what does that mean_?”

“I ... don’t know. Fuck.”

Jonathan stops pacing. “Oh my god, _we’re _so stupid. Murray, it’s outside. He didn’t keep it in the cabin, he kept it _outside_. That’s why we haven’t found it yet. We weren’t looking in the right place this entire time but it’s been right here, in the backyard, all this time. Probably has something to do with why those trees were undisturbed. Three of them, right?”

“_... Right.”_

“Give me one minute and I’ll be right back,” Jonathan tells Murray and drops his phone to the floor without thinking. He looks up for the first time and finds Nancy and Steve up on their feet too, staring at him bewilderedly. “Give me one minute too. I need to dig up my backyard.” That sounded reassuring enough to him in his head but he understands why they follow him as he runs into his kitchen.

“Jonathan, it’s _snowing _out,” Nancy huffs, trailing behind him. “Get your coat.”

“No time. Too important.” Jonathan fumbles with the screen-door, clumsy with anticipation, but he finally manages to get it open.

“Dude, what is going on?” Steve catches Jonathan’s hand before he steps out. 

Jonathan softens. He squeezes Steve’s hand, grips Nancy’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. There’s so much I haven’t told you yet but I will. In a minute. I just need to dig it up.” He turns around and jumps into his backyard, foregoing the steps entirely, and lifts the shovel next to the steps. Footsteps sound behind him as he begins to frantically shovel in the centre of his backyard.

“There’s a lot we haven’t told you too,” Steve says breathlessly. “But let’s talk about it first. You’re scaring us, man. Are you digging up a _body_?”

“No, I promise, I’m not, I just —” He shovels snow thrice, enough until he sees a patch of grass. There isn’t enough snow yet that it gets in the way, thankfully, so it’s not long before he begins to tear apart the grass. “Finding something.”

“You’re not even wearing shoes,” Nancy yells but Jonathan keeps going until he hits something rock-hard. 

“Holy shit,” he murmurs. He shovels again, and again, and again, until it’s finally, finally there: spots of a metal door he’d been _dreaming _about for months. 

“Why the hell are you guys out — Jonathan, what the hell are you doing?” Kali calls out.

He drops the shovel in front of his feet and looks back at his friends. They’re huddled by the screen door, Kali and Robin out of breath as they squeeze in behind Nancy and Steve, all looking terribly confused, which is fair.

“I’ll explain,” Jonathan promises. The cold seeps into his socks and runs a shiver down his spine but he doesn’t feel cold at all. “But first, can someone please grab my journal? It’s on top of the fridge.”

“I’ve got it,” Robin says slowly and ducks into the kitchen.

He keeps shovelling, needs more, more, more. There’s no way that Alexei dug up a patch of grass — is it even real? — every time he needed to seek his portal. 

“I know this is concerning,” Jonathan pants, “but it’ll make sense soon. I swear.”

Footsteps sound behind him. He stops shovelling and notices that Nancy, Steve, Kali, and even Freddie have stepped outside and are approaching him.

“Does this have to do with Murray’s whole supernatural-hunting?” Nancy asks carefully.

“It does, but it’s more than that, you’ll —”

“Jonathan.” Robin stands at the top step leading into the backyard. She holds his journal up, facing the front of it with the six-fingered hand and black-inked two towards them. Even from this far and with the dark of night, he can tell her face has paled. “What is this?” 

“Holy shit,” Kali says. “There’s a _second _journal?”

Steve’s mouth drops. “Where did you get that?”

Nancy spins around, facing away from Robin to Jonathan. “Do you know who the author is?”

It’s a wonder that when the shovel falls out of Jonathan’s hand, it doesn’t land over his sock-covered feet. He feels like the luckiest person alive but he also can’t help but feel like the biggest idiot too.

“You guys have the first journal, don’t you?” The ground beneath Jonathan’s feet feels like it’s shaking. “All this time, the first journal has been _here _with _you _—”

Wait. Never-mind. The ground _is _shaking because now is when Freddie decides he _must _grow ten-foot-tall, his tail coming to rest on the ridge of the cabin’s roof.

“Hey, is that Clifford?” Steve shouts in amazement. “Oh my god, hey, bud, it’s been years since we’ve seen you!”

“What,” is all Jonathan can manage.

“We’ve never seen him in his regular size before,” Kali says, laughing as she waves up at him. “I thought Freddie looked familiar but I didn’t know he’d — oh, wow. Freddie! Clifford! _They’re the same_!”

Jonathan’s head is spinning. He doesn’t know where to begin but Freddie — Clifford? — helps him out by placing a giant paw over where Jonathan had been digging. He peels some of the grass off, which _has _to be fake now, and there, a shiny set of nine digits glisten at him.

“Okay, Murray is really yelling now, you need to tell him something.” Steve runs up to him, shoving the phone in his hand. He flicks some snow out of Jonathan’s hair. “Please don’t be mad. We didn’t want to —”

“I’m not mad,” Jonathan promises. Nancy, Kali, and Robin come closer and they form a circle like they’d done earlier in the night, except rather than having the circle on the floor, this circle is in his backyard where a portal lies underneath their feet and Freddie/Clifford’s tail now curves protectively around them on the ground. “I get it. I mean, I _will _get it, it’s just right now, I have to —” 

Jonathan raises his phone to his ear. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“I found it. There’s a code-pad.”

“What? Wait, no, are you — you still need to figure out the code, though, and if there’s a limit to how many —”

“I know what it is.” Jonathan sinks to his knees. He's too numb for the added cold to make any difference, so he doesn’t care that his pants get further drenched in the snow. With a shaky breath, he begins to punch in the code.

He’d already spent the past two months thinking up what Alexei would potentially have as a code if they’d need to type one in. He knows from looking it up that Russia goes by date first then month so that’s exactly how he types in Murray’s birthday.

A fraction of a second passes.

“Jonathan, what’s going on? Did it work?” Murray asks frantically. 

A faint green light emits from the number-pad followed by a _click_. 

As Jonathan looks up, he sees all of his friends beaming up, huddled up close around him. They’re happy for him and they don’t even know what’s going on and god, Jonathan loves them so much, they’re the fucking best people he —

“Jonathan?” Murray repeats again, his voice edging into a shout. “_Jonathan_!?”

The boom of fireworks echoes above them. Distantly, Jonathan can make out a bloom of red, white, and gold soaring in the sky as they all plummet into darkness, falling, falling, falling into what Jonathan’s been searching for all this time and into the new year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DID IT AND I DID THE THING BEFORE THE END OF THE YEAR WHICH I'D BEEN AIMING FOR AND!!!!!!! SO MUCH HAPPENED. EVERYTHING HAPPENED. OH MY GOD.
> 
> listen i'm SO sorry for what i'm sure is an abundance of grammatical errors - i will be editing in the next few days, i just really wanted to have this done and up on new years eve!! AND IT IS!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> shout out 2 my lovely and especially groovy friend who let me yell about this chapter to her and worked out a part of the plot that had me /stuck/ for months. and who also put up with me going "so you know how in gravity falls-" about a dozen of times, despite me knowing she hasn't seen the entire show and her constant and patient reminders of that fact. 
> 
> and shout out to you wonderful people for being so patient with me. we are in the home-stretch now and i want to thank you so much for being here. i wish you all a kinder and lighter 2021. see you soon!!


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